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THE SCHOLAR UNTIED THE CHAIN OF GEMS FROM THE 

QUEEN'S NECK. 

(From ;i drawing- by Evelyn Paul.) 





UBRARYof CONGRESS f 
Two Gooles Rocelved 

jUN 28 IW S 




Copyright, 1906 and 1907, 

By THOMAS Y. CROWELL & COMPANY 


CONTENTS 


Introduction ...... v 

The Man Born to be King .... I 

Atalanta’s Race . . . . • . .38 

The Writing on the Image . . . .52 

The Fostering of Aslaug . . . .61 

Bellerophon at Argos ..... 86 

Bellerophon in Lycia . . . . .104 

The Proud King . . . . . • *53 

Acontius and Cydippe . . . . .178 

Ogier the Dane . . . . . .186 

The Golden Apples . . . . .213 

The Lovers of Gudrun . . . . .224 

The Lady of the Land ..... 264 

The Story of Rhodope . . . . . 274 

The Land East of the Sun and West of the 

Moon ....... 301 


iii 


% 


Introduction 


“ r-|p>HE EARTHLY PARADISE,” writ- 
I ten between the years 1 868 and 1 870, 
JL is the most important of the poems 
of William Morris, the celebrated artist, crafts- 
man, and author. This great work was the out- 
come of his admiration for Chaucer and his de- 
sire to write a collection of stories in verse, drawn 
from various sources and arranged, like “ The 
Canterbury Tales,” in an original setting. Just 
as Chaucer put his tales into the mouths of a 
band of pilgrims on their way to Canterbury, so 
Morris planned that the stories he selected for 
his cycle should be told by a company of sea- 
farers from Norway and certain Greeks, thrown 
together in their old age by the strange chances 
of fortune. The adventures which brought about 
their meeting form the substance of the Pro- 
logue to “ The Earthly Paradise.” 

The scene of the Prologue is laid in an island, 
far west in the Atlantic, where a colony of Greeks 
had settled many centuries before, and where 
their descendants still retained their language, 
traditions, and religion. A band of Wanderers, 

T 


VI 


Introduction 


gray-haired, travel-stained and dejected, appear 
unexpectedly in the market-place of the Greeks, 
who give them a kindly welcome. In answer to 
the questions of the islanders, Rolf the Norwegian 
tells how he and his company have spent the 
best years of their lives in a fruitless search for a 
certain earthly paradise — a fair land of sunshine 
and unfading flowers, where, they fondly be- 
lieved, sorrow and death were alike unknown. 

Rolf and his two friends, Laurence, the Swa- 
bian priest, and Nicholas, the learned Breton, 
had often longed to go in quest of this deathless 
land, and when, one autumn, Norway was dev- 
astated by a dreadful pestilence, they determined 
to flee from the death-stricken country and seek 
at last the wondrous earthly paradise, which, 
Nicholas had read, lay somewhere in the far 
western ocean. 

Sailors and men-at-arms to the number of 
eighty were found willing to set sail with them 
in the Fighting Man, given them by little Kirstin 
Erling, whose father, the master of the boat, had 
died of the plague, and who herself, for love of 
her good friend Nicholas, agreed to accompany 
them across the ocean. 

Fearing to make known their intended flight 
lest they should be prevented from sailing by 


Introduction 


VII 


others who might be jealous of their escape, they 
stole away in their ship at midnight, and made 
for Bremen, where they bought great stores of 
food and armor, and also a second boat, by 
name the Rose-Garland. Then, in high hope, 
they sailed southwest between the shores of 
France and England, meeting upon their way the 
English king, Edward, who weis anxious to em- 
ploy them in an expedition against his enemy, 
the French ; but, on hearing the strange quest on 
which they were setting forth, he gave the 
leaders gifts, and suffered the little company to 
go upon their way unmolested. 

Reaching the open sea, they sailed due west 
for many a weary day, till, after encountering a 
fierce storm in which they had almost perished, 
they at last sighted land. Great was their joy, on 
coming ashore, to find themselves among trees 
and flowers so beautiful that they deemed they 
had reached a very paradise. The embalmed 
bodies of the kings of the land ranged round the 
walls of a temple, however, showed them that 
death was there as well as in Norway, and, disap- 
pointed in their expectations, they took to sea 
again. 

Their next landing was disastrous, for, disem- 
barking in a bay where no track of danger was 


viii Introduction 

visible, they gave themselves up to reckless feast- 
ing, and lay down to sleep in their unguarded 
tents. At dead of night they were surprised by 
a band of fierce savages, and before they could 
beat them back they lost three of their number, 
besides poor little Kirstin, who was found dead, 
with an arrow through her heart. 

Hastily regaining their ships, they sailed along 
the coast, and at length landed amongst a simple 
and kindly folk. The weather becoming stormy, 
they thought it well to remain some weeks on 
shore, where the friendly natives brought them 
many gifts of fruit and game, while they, in re- 
turn, built them substantial huts after the fashion 
of those in Norway. Still Rolf yearned to reach 
the paradise of his dreams, and as he gazed at the 
snow-clad mountains that lay to the west, he 
fondly hoped that beyond them might be found 
that blissful land. Nicholas and Laurence being 
of the same mind, the three friends, set out, with 
a number of their men-at-arms, and with immense 
difficulty crossed the frozen heights, only to find 
themselves in a country, bleak, barren, and in- 
habited by a savage race whose delight it was to 
feed on human flesh. Before they could retrace 
their steps, the Norsemen had, time and again, to 
repulse these cannibals ; but at length, by dint of 


Introduction 


IX 


the utmost courage and perseverance, they suC' 
ceeded in rejoining their comrades on the shore. 

There was now dissension among the Wan- 
derers, some of whom, seeing the folly of their 
quest, had wedded native wives and decided to 
spend the remainder of their days in the little 
haven of rest which they had found. Others, 
in despair of reaching any earthly paradise, set 
sail in the Fighting Man, to regain, if possible, 
their native land of Norway; while, with heavy 
hearts, the three leaders and some forty men, the 
faithful remnant of their band, embarked in the 
Rose-Garland, and went on their way southward. 

For three years Rolf and his friends struggled 
on, sometimes driven far out to sea by storms, 
sometimes resting on shore, till one day they 
came to a pleasant land,^ having in its midst a 
city, white-walled, and gay with painted houses 
and exquisite gardens, where they were received 

• It is worthy of note that the description which Morris gives 
of this country corresponds with what Cortes the Spaniard found 
in Mexico when he landed there in 1519. Morris speaks of a 
“ tower foursquare lessening in stage on stage,” which is ex- 
actly the teocalli or pyramidal temple of the Aztecs ; and an 
excellent picture of that ancient and highly civilized race is 
given in his account of the people whose city contained mag- 
nificent buildings and gardens, who knew nothing of the use of 
iron, but fashioned their weapons of copper or flint, and wliose 
hieroglyphics resembled those of the Egyptians. Here, as in 
his mention of Edward III, Morris lends an air of reality to his 
fiction by the introduction of historical facts. 


X 


Introduction 


with more than kingly honors. Houses were 
given to them, slaves, too, and gold in abun- 
dance ; and gladly they repaid the kindness of the 
people by aiding in their councils, and instruct- 
ing them in the use of letters, the art of ship- 
building, and other useful crafts. Having en- 
abled them to defeat a dreaded enemy, the 
Norsemen won the complete devotion of the 
natives of the country, and came to be looked 
upon as gods rather than men. For many a 
year they dwelt contented in that land, until 
approaching old age awakened in their breasts 
wistful thoughts of the paradise of eternal youth 
which, long ago, they had hoped to discover. 

Just then a young man came to them secretly 
with wonderful tales of a far-distant country, 
where, said he, none grew old, and where, if any 
aged person arrived, he at once regained his 
youth. Pretending that he himself had been a 
gray-haired elder and had grown young again 
upon reaching those shores, the stranger re- 
kindled the hopes of the Wanderers, and eagerly 
they followed him overseas toward their expected 
paradise. Alas for their hopes ! They found too 
late that the young man’s story was but a lure 
to bring them to a city where they were doomed 
to lifelong imprisonment within a strongly guarded 


Introduction 


XI 


temple, their captors believing that the presence 
of these far-famed, fair-skinned strangers would 
ensure the lasting good fortune of the nation. 
But the dodrs of their temple-prison were not to 
remain closed forever. After what seemed to 
the Norsemen an endless lapse of time, they 
heard, one day, the din of battle in the streets, 
and finding their guards had fled before the ad- 
vance of an invading force, they seized their 
armor, and escaped to the quay. There they took 
possession of a ship lying at anchor, and set sail 
unobserved, directing their course toward the land 
from which, in their folly, they had been beguiled. 

Joyously they sailed southward, but their de- 
light in recovered freedom was forgotten in their 
sorrow for the death of their good captain, 
Nicholas, who died upon the voyage, worn out 
with suffering and disappointment. After a time 
fierce winds arose, and drove them so far from 
shore that they had all but perished for lack of 
food and water. At last, however, they reached 
a land — not that for which they had steered, but 
the island inhabited by the Greeks, and there 
the fisher-folk fed and housed them until their 
strength returned, and they were able to journey 
to the main city, to lay their case before the 
rulers of the colony. 


Xll 


Introduction 


Such was the story recited by Rolf in the 
market-place of the Greeks, whose language he 
spoke with ease, as his boyhood had been spent 
in Byzantium. 

By this time the Wanderers had ceased to 
cherish the vain hope of an earthly paradise. 
They saw now that old age and death visited 
every region of the earth, and that, go where 
they might, they must in time submit to the fate 
of all mankind. Their one remaining wish was 
to gain a resting-place where they might spend 
the evening of their life in peace ; and when, on 
hearing their story, the elders of the city pressed 
them to settle in their midst, they gladly did so, 
finding there as much of a paradise as is granted 
to men on earth. 

Having made their home among the Greeks, 
they soon took a share in the business and the 
pleasures of their hosts, and nothing pleased 
them better than to sit with the elders of the 
city, talking over the legends of the Old World 
they had left so long ago. On a March day, 
when a banquet was being held in honor of the 
opening year, the high priest of the land arose 
and proposed — what was much to the liking of 
all — that at a feast to be given twice in each 
month throughout the new year one of their 


Introduction 


xiii 

number should entertain the others with the re- 
cital of a story. His proposal being eagerly 
agreed to, the priest himself, by way of example, 
related that afternoon the tale of Atalantds RacCy 
and, two weeks later, one of the Norsemen fol- 
lowed with the old French romance of The Man 
Born to be King. 

In this way, then, the twenty-four stories of 
“ The Earthly Paradise " are linked together, one 
being told by a Greek, and one by a Norseman 
alternately. 

Morris had an intense love of the Middle 
Ages, and, added to the fact that story-telling 
was then a common form of entertainment, this 
made it natural that he should choose some time 
in these far-past centuries as the date for the Pro- 
logue to his great poem. In the terrible plague, 
known as the Black Death, which ravaged Nor- 
way as well as many other countries in 1 372, he 
found a suitable reason for his Wanderers setting 
forth upon their search for a deathless land. The 
stories they relate had therefore to be chosen 
from those current in Europe before the end of 
the fourteenth century. In keeping with the 
date at which they are supposed to be told, 
Morris infuses into his tales the very spirit of 
the Middle Ages, with its superstitious belief 


xiv Introduction 

in magic, and its love of mystery and ro- 
mance. 

By including a Breton and a Swabian along 
with the Norsemen in his band of Wanderers, he 
was able to make use of the stories of France and 
Germany, as well as Scandinavia, while he intro- 
duced an Arabian tale through Rolf the Nor- 
wegian, whose early years in Byzantium had ac- 
quainted him with the legends of the East. In 
contrast with the variety of sources from which 
the Wanderers’ tales are derived, those of their 
hosts are drawn from one only — the myths and 
traditions of ancient Greece. Morris represents 
these as having been handed down by the colo- 
nists from father to son through many genera- 
tions, so that they had often been altered in de- 
tails from the form in which they were first 
known ; and further, as all his narrators, Greek 
and Norse alike, were gray-haired men, whose 
memories of things heard in youth may well 
have grown dim, he leaves himself free to make 
what variations he pleases in the telling of these 
old-world legends, and to enrich with many a 
beautiful and original fancy of his own 

« The gentle music of the bygone years. 

Long past to us with all their hopes and fears.” 

M. G. E. 


The Man Born to be King 

I N the banquetingrhall of a large and beauti- 
ful palace sat a young King holding high 
festival amongst his courtiers. His peace- 
ful, happy reign allowed him to foster learning at 
court, and as he had always gladly welcomed to 
his board any sage or philosopher from whom he 
might gain fresh knowledge, he was not surprised 
to see among his guests that afternoon a stranger 
who was clearly a man of some lore. Interested 
in the small wizened figure whose eyes flashed so 
brightly beneath his lofty forehead, the King 
ordered a servant to bring the newcomer before 
him when the meal was ended. 

“ Welcome, friend,” said he ; “ ’tis plain to me 
that you are wise above most men. Come, will 
you show us wherein your skill lies ? Is it in 
minstrelsy, in knowledge of the stars, of herbs 
that bring healing to the sick, or in alchemy 
perchance ? ” 

“ O King,” replied the stranger, you see be- 
fore you a humble watcher of the stars, one who, 

I 


4 


Stories From William Morris 


door shone the light that had guided him thither. 
In the doorway appeared a man, grim and sad of 
face, who, at the King’s request for a night’s 
lodging, made answer that no one should cross 
his threshold that evening, for his wife lay dying 
within ; but, he added, if the stranger liked, he 
might sleep in the shed close by, and he should 
have what fare the hut afforded. 

Thankful for the shelter, such as it was, the 
King tied his horse to a post in the shed, and 
having eaten the supper of rye-bread and home- 
made wine, brought by his humble host, he lay 
down on his bed of dried fern, and fell at once 
into a deep slumber. Not long, however, did he 
sleep, for in his dreams he heard a shrill voice 
cry : Take ! Take ! ” and he started up with a 

strange terror at his heart. Finding no cause for 
alarm he lay down again, but scarcely had sleep 
come to him a second time when he awoke in 
distress, hearing a new echo from his dreams : 
“ Give up ! Give up T' Yet once more his rest 
was broken. He dreamed that the little old star- 
gazer bent over him to whisper, with a mocking 
smile : “ Take and Give up — you hear the 

words ? The crown which old age will force you 
to give up, shall be taken by the child who is 
born to-night in this humble cottage.” 


5 


The Man Born to be King 

These words still haunted him when he arose 
next morning and crossed to the hut. It was a 
sad sight that met his eyes there. On a heap of 
straw the woodman’s wife lay dead ; her husband, 
lost in grief, knelt by her side, heedless of their 
little new-born son, who was wailing pitifully. 
The room was without a window, but light from 
the open door streamed in across the floor of 
hard-trodden earth ; three logs of wood served as 
chairs, and a rough board laid on trestles was the 
only table. A more miserable home it would 
have been hard to find in that country, but the 
King thought little of the misery before him, as 
he stood gazing curiously at the infant and 
brooding over his late dreams. Fierce anger in- 
stead of pity filled his heart. Was his own royal 
line doomed indeed to perish, and this child, son 
of a poverty-stricken peasant, destined to rise to 
the throne ? The sound of a horn broke in upon 
his jealous musings, and, recognizing the blast, he 
sprang to the door, and gave an answering shout, 
which soon brought his followers to the spot. 

The woodman turned to gaze dully upon the 
gay troop who flocked into his hut, and who, to 
his bewilderment, greeted his unexacting guest 
of last night as their sovereign lord. 

“ Thanks to this good fellow,” said the King 


6 Stories From William Morris 

to his huntsmen, “ I found both food and shelter 
overnight. We must reward him handsomely 
for his hospitality, and in no way can we do so 
more fitly, methinks, than by taking his mother- 
less child off his hands to rear at court. Wouldst 
have the boy trained to be a trusty little page ? ” 
he asked, turning to the woodman, who had by 
this time relapsed into his former indifference, 
too stupefied with grief to notice the anxiety 
which the King strove to conceal beneath these 
seemingly careless words. The poor man roused 
himself so far as to thank the King for his offer, 
and knowing that without a mother the child 
would fare badly in his desolate hut, he agreed 
that the infant should be carried at once by the 
huntsmen to the royal palace. 

A wooden box was found and a handful of 
hay placed in it. Then the father having laid 
his little one in this rough cradle, a squire came 
forward, and gently lifted the burden to his 
saddle-bow. The King fairly trembled in his 
eagerness to ride off with his new-born rival. 
He mounted his horse the moment it was brought 
to the door, and, handing a courtier some gold 
for the woodman, dashed at the head of his troop 
into the dark wood. A minute later one man 
alone stood by the hut. It was he whose wife 


7 


The Man Born to be King 

lay dead within and whose little son had been 
borne thus suddenly from his sight. He stopped 
to count the gold pieces that now lay glittering 
in his hand, and as he counted them his future 
lay plain before him. He would pay the priests 
to say prayers over his dead, and then, bidding 
farewell forever to this forest, he would wander 
far into other lands, there to forget the tragedy 
of his woodland home. 

Meantime the King rode with his huntsmen 
through the forest until they reached its farther 
edge, where the open country stretched before 
them, and in the distance a deep stream lay like 
a silver band across their path. Then turning in 
his saddle, “ Ride on, sirs,” he cried, “ and leave 
with me Samuel, the squire who has the infant 
in his charge. It is my will to visit these fields 
in the valley and note the harvest there. Down 
by the stream we may perchance find a farm- 
house at which to leave the child to be nursed, 
until he be of age to come to our palace.” 

The men rode on at the word, the King watch- 
ing until the last of their green coats had disap- 
peared between the high hedgerows, when he 
called the old squire to his side. Samuel, like 
his father before him, had served at court long 
and faithfully, so with full confidence the King 


8 Stories From William Morris 


now told him of the prophecy read from the 
stars, his dreams last night, and his fears that the 
babe they carried was fated to be his successor 
on the throne. “ But not if I can help it, shall 
this weak infant grow to manhood,” continued 
the King. “ I am taking you with me to yonder 
bridge, where you shall drop the child in his 
box-cradle into the water. I would not indeed 
shed his blood ; but only if Heaven intervenes 
on his behalf, shall he escape death to-day.” 

The old squire made a feeble remonstrance : 
“ Doubtless, my lord, you plan wisely, for if it is 
I who cast the boy into the stream the guilt is 
mine, not yours, and willingly, as you know, 
would I do graver deeds than this to please my 
sovereign. But after all, will not the ark be res- 
cued by some passer-by? Better, I pray you, 
sire, leave things as they are, nor struggle against 
Fate.” 

“ Nay,” returned the King firmly. “ Let me 
but see the cradle swept into the eddies of the 
river and I shall have no more fear of the wise 
man's prophecies.” 

Without further discussion the two horsemen 
rode forward to the river, where the King, cross- 
ing the bridge, watched the squire stop midway 
and raise from his saddle-bow the box which 


9 


The Man Born to be King 

held the infant. On one side of the white wooden 
cradle he noticed that a lion had been roughly- 
painted in red. Next moment he heard a splash, 
and a cry from the wakened child ; he saw the 
cradle whirling in mid-stream, and then, with his 
squire by his side, he turned, and rode swiftly 
from the bank. With seeming carelessness he 
chatted to Samuel as they pursued their way; 
and if their light talk did not banish the thoughts 
that troubled him, these were put to flight by 
the news that awaited him at the palace. An 
infant daughter had been born to him the night 
before, and his delight in the little Princess Cecily 
soon drove from his mind the memory of the 
other child born that same night. 

Fourteen years passed. Once more, on an 
autumn day, the King found himself beside the 
stream where he and his squire had done their 
cruel deed, but this time he was not alone with 
Samuel. He and his courtiers had spent the 
morning flying their falcons till, tired of sport, 
they halted at midday to rest on the river’s bank, 
close by a mill. The splash of the mill-wheel 
was a pleasant sound in the miller’s orchard ; the 
apple-trees, heavy with fruit, threw a welcome 
shadow on the grass ; and a picture of quiet 
charm lay before them in the group of quaint 


lo Stories From William Morris 


old buildings, on whose roofs the doves sat coo- 
ing gently. 

No better spot than the orchard could they 
have found for their noonday rest. On seeing 
them dismount, the miller himself came hurrying 
to the party with fruit, junkets, and cream for 
their refreshment, and led the way to the shadiest 
spot beneath the trees. Now, the miller was 
short and fat, and his round red face far from 
handsome. By his side walked a boy, tall, seem- 
ingly, for his years, in face so different from the 
miller that the King on seeing them together 
smiled at the contrast. That gray-eyed lad can 
hardly be his son, thought he. Does your boy 
get his good looks from his mother ? ” he asked 
his bustling host. 

Nay, sire, that I cannot tell, for he is not our 
child, and we know nothing of his parents. ’Twas 
this time fourteen years ago that my wife found 
him and brought him to our home, an infant 
that must else have died in the river.” With 
these few words the miller disappeared through 
the orchard ; while the boy remained standing 
before the King, astonished to see a look of 
acute anxiety and then of horror upon the royal 
face as the miller gave his reply. 

Scarcely had the King recovered his self-corn- 


11 


The Man Born to be King 

mand than he had to listen to a story that proved 
his fears were all too true. Back came the miller. 
He had summoned his wife to relate how the 
child was found on that long-past September 
day. 

Riding along the river-bank, said the woman, 
on her way home from market, she had heard a 
feeble cry, and tracing the sound to a wooden 
case entangled mid-stream in weeds, she waded 
out to the object, and lifted from the ark a little 
naked infant who lay there wailing with cold 
and hunger. From the day that she had brought 
him home, her husband and she had loved him as 
their own child. “ And here, O King," she 
ended, is the chest in which I found our 
Michael." 

There was no need for the King to look at the 
box which she drew from beneath her shawl. 
He knew beforehand what it would be. Yes, 
there it was, fashioned of rough white wood, and 
on one of its sides a lion painted in red colors 
that had not faded. 

Trusting that no one but old Samuel shared 
the secret with him, the King managed to con- 
ceal his painful interest in the story he had heard 
from the miller’s wife. But after he had returned 
to the palace, he waited only till the morrow to 


12 


Stories From William Morris 


call the old squire to his private chamber. Hav- 
ing been closeted with his master for a long time, 
Samuel at length came out, muttering angrily 
about the foolish fancies of kings, called for a 
horse, and galloped straightway to the mill. 

By the side of the mill-pond lay the boy whose 
destiny vexed the King. As he idly watched his 
bait float in the water, his thoughts turned to 
yesterday's talk, his unknown parentage, and the 
strange expression which the King wore while 
the miller spoke of his adoption. Why should 
his sovereign's countenance have changed as it 
did ? Might it not be that he, the so-called son 
of the miller, was of noble lineage, and that the 
King would one day call him to play his proper 
part at court ? What great deeds he would do 
if he were a knight ! 

In the midst of these day-dreams the boy saw 
the King's squire ride up to the mill. The 
courtier’s dress was heavy with gold, his sword 
glittered by his side, while fastened in his doublet 
there gleamed a knife of rare workmanship. On 
its golden hilt was an inlaid spray of green leaves, 
round which a silver scroll bore the words, dark 
in meaning as in their lettering : Strike ! for no 
dead man cometh back ! 

Michael sprang to his feet as the horseman 


The Man Born to be King 13 

drew rein to ask for the master of the house. 
The sight of the gaily dressed courtier was in 
keeping with the day-dreams in which the boy 
had just been indulging. Could this be a mes- 
senger to call him to the palace ? 

Samuel saw the boy’s handsome face aglow 
with excitement, and beneath his breath he mut- 
tered : “ Truly, the lad is fated to make his 

mark ! 'Tis folly to think that we can push him 
from the throne.” 

The miller found, a scroll was given him by 
the King’s squire, but to read the message was 
be3^ond the goodman’s power. The courtier 
smiled : “ No matter though you cannot read the 
words ; you see the King’s seal on the letter, and 
from that you may know that it is in truth his 
royal command. The orders which he sends are 
briefly these : it is his pleasure that the boy whom 
you have housed so many years come now with 
me to court and enter his service as a page.” 

The miller’s cheerful face turned sad. He stood 
for some time, twisting his dusty cap between his 
fingers before he ventured a reply. Well, be it 
so,” he said at length ; “ I cannot hold back the 
lad, since he is no more my son than the King’s, 
yet I had hoped to see him grow to manhood in 
the old mill. I meant him to be miller when I 


14 Stories From William Morris 

was past work, and I had even looked him out a 
pretty wife against the time when he should be 
master here. He is my right hand already, but, 
sore though he will be missed, I judge we must 
let him go with you, sir.” 

Michael had been meantime standing apart, 
dazed by the King’s message. To his fancy it 
seemed that life itself was changing as fast as his 
dreams. Gazing at the gray, wind-swept hill be- 
hind the miller’s house, he could believe he saw 
a new country, with strange figures flitting across 
the long slopes, himself a knight riding to do 
battle with grim enemies upon these fields. 
Samuel’s harsh voice recalled him to his senses, 
and he caught the sneering words : ** A fine 
life you have planned for the lad ! But what 
suits you, miller, might not please one of better 
birth — as the child’s looks prove him to be, says 
my master. Tell me, my boy,” he went on, turn- 
ing to Michael, “ which seems best — mill or 
palace, eh ? ” 

“ Indeed, sir, I have been happy here,” stam- 
mered the boy, now fully alive to what was go- 
ing on around him. ‘‘ We have good fishing in 
our stream, and I never weary of my bow and 
arrows. Next June, our ranger says, I may quite 
well enter for the archer’s prize at the town fair. 


The Man Born to be King 15 

Oh, all the year round there is something to enter- 
tain us/’ 

This answer only amused Samuel, as the miller’s 
words had done before. “ That is a peasant’s 
notion of pleasure ; you will soon learn better. 
Here, miller, is a bag of gold to pay you for the 
lad, whom you are not to see again. You need 
not look for him to come back from court to visit 
his humble friends, so boast not to the neigh- 
bors of his rise in life : the less said the better.” 

The miller gave poor Michael a kindly fare- 
well, while his wife flung her arms round the 
boy. “ ’Tis hard to say good-bye,” she whis- 
pered. “ You seemed our own son, Michael, 
and made our home so happy. Well, well, God 
bless you in your new life, child.” 

“ Come, now,” Samuel broke in. “ It is get- 
ting late, and we must be off, if this brave young 
knight is to reach the palace in daylight.” 

Torn between his love of the old life and his 
eagerness for the new, Michael crossed the 
stream, and climbed to his seat on horseback 
behind the squire. The courtier’s mocking talk 
had hurt him as much as parting with his kind- 
hearted old foster-parents ; but Samuel did not 
vex him with further sneers, and ere long he had 
recovered his spirits. 


i6 Stories From William Morris 


In silence the travelers rode along the sedgy- 
riverside until they reached the forking of the 
highway. Instead of taking the main road in 
the direction of the King's palace, Samuel now 
turned his horse sharply across the bridge on to 
the other road which ran from the valley up to 
the edge of the pine forest. Little did Michael 
know that he had once before been carried on 
the squire’s horse along that road, and that for a 
wicked purpose Samuel had then halted upon 
the bridge over which they clattered swiftly and 
noisily to-day. 

“ Are we to find the King somewhere in the 
woods ? ” asked the boy, surprised at the direc- 
tion they had taken. 

“ Seeing that he is free to go where he pleases, 
you need not be astonished, need you, to learn 
that to-day he is visiting the black monks be- 
yond the forest ? ” 

Unheard by Michael the old squire murmured 
peevishly : “ 111 betide him, I say, king though 

he be ! Why should he compel me to do an 
ugly deed of this sort ? It were more fitting for 
me to rest at home, and buy heaven’s pardon for 
all the misdeeds I have already done to humor 
him.” 

It was not long before the stout war-horse bore 



THE TRAVELLERS RODE IN SILENCE. 
(From a drawing by Evelyn Paul.) 



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7 


The Man Born to be King i 

them to the uplands where the forest began. 
With a last glance down upon the sunny corn- 
fields of the valley, Michael turned his eyes to the 
wood, which, thought he, might well have sheltered 
trolls, fairies, or giant wood-cutters, so dark it 
was, so unnaturally still. As they rode forward 
beneath the firs, drowsiness crept over him, and 
he ceased to notice where they were going. It 
was only when he felt the daylight grow brighter 
that he looked up, and found that they had 
crossed the wood and were now on the point of 
descending a rough, gravelly hill. Beyond the 
brushwood that fringed the lower slopes a few 
stunted alders and thick beds of rushes marked 
the windings of a sluggish stream, from whose 
oozy banks came the low, booming cry of the 
bittern. On the other side of the valley the 
ground rose steeply, topped by a mass of oak 
and holly trees, that made a heavy screen behind 
the dreary and forbidding foreground. 

“ Step to the ground,” ordered Samuel as they 
left the wood, “ the horse will find our weight 
too much here.” So Michael walked downhill 
beside the rider, singing, as he went, some 
snatches of old country songs, and too happy in 
his own thoughts to notice that his companion 
was shifting uneasily in his saddle and fingering 


i8 Stories From William Morris 


his knife. Even the hoarseness of the squire s 
voice did not put him on his guard when he 
heard Samuel’s next words : “ Come, lad, and 

tighten these girths.” 

He bent down by the side of the old courtier 
to do as he was bid. Then Samuel raised his 
knife, and plunged it in the boy’s side. Stagger- 
ing backward with a cry, Michael fell heavily on 
the ground. His eyes were turned toward the 
treacherous squire, who, deadly pale, sprang 
from his horse to deal a second blow, if need be. 
But even as he stooped over the boy, and felt his 
heart still beating, the faint tinkling of a bell 
reached the old man’s ears, and with a shudder 
he dropped the knife, and started to his feet. 
What was that tolling ? Was it the avenging 
angel drawing near to strike him as he had struck 
Michael ? Again the evening breeze swept the 
sound across the valley, and now, frenzied with 
terror and conscience-stricken, Samuel flung him- 
self into the saddle. Clutching the reins tight, 
he spurred his horse uphill, dashed through the 
woods, and in the darkness of evening gained the 
road along which he had twice carried Michael 
to face death. At the bridge his outwearied 
horse stumbled, and fell dead ; then, dazed with 
the horror of the boy’s blood upon his hands, the 


The Man Born to be King 19 

old squire wandered aimlessly all night long, till 
by sunrise he found himself at the palace gates. 

In the early morning he sought the King’s 
presence, and told his story. “ I own,” he ended, 
“ that I did not stand near and watch the boy 
breathe his last, but assuredly that tolling bell 
marked the approach of the angel of death, who 
must have borne away his spirit to another 
world. Believe me, O sire, that your young 
rival will trouble you no more.” 

The King frowned angrily. “ I thought that 
I had sent a man of mettle to do my work, but it 
seems I chose only a poor weakling, whose hands 
tremble when they grasp a knife. Death of my 
life ! I doubt if your lordship ever struck the 
lad!” 

Second thoughts, however, satisfied the King 
that Michael must have died of his wound, and 
once more he comforted himself that his crown 
would never pass to the woodman’s son. 

In return for his day’s work Samuel received 
rich gifts from his master ; but the old courtier 
was tired of his lifelong service of flattery and 
wickedness, and before many months were over, 
his spirit passed to its solemn account, and the 
last earthly honors were paid to his body in the 
minster. 


20 Stories From William Morris 


Princess Cecily had neither brother nor sister, 
and when she was eighteen years old she lost her 
mother. That a pleasant stepmother soon took 
the place of the late Queen mattered little to the 
Princess, however, for the King had arranged 
that Cecily should leave her home that autumn 
and become the bride of a neighboring prince. 
The month before her marriage was to be spent 
at a quiet country house of the King’s, whither 
he would bring the young prince to see his bride 
for the first time a few days before their wedding. 

The very day that Cecily wished her father 
farewell and set out with her attendants to the 
Rose Castle, there came to visit the King, Peter, 
the old Abbot from the far side of the forest, 
with his sub-prior Adrian, five other monks, and 
a body of ten serving- men. Their business dis- 
patched, the King invited the party to stay and 
sup at the palace. ** I would we had every day 
as tall men as yours at our table, Lord Abbot,” 
he said carelessly as he glanced at the armed 
men. On a sudden he felt as if he must be 
dreaming, for beneath one of the ten helmets 
there looked out a pair of bright eyes which last 
he had seen fixed on him four years ago in the 
miller’s orchard, and which since that autumn he 
had fancied were closed in death ! “ Raise that 


21 


The Man Born to be King 

steel cap, and let me see you better,” he ordered, 
pointing toward Michael amongst the men-at- 
arms. “ I seem to know your face. Tell me 
your history, my man.” 

Then Michael stood forward, a handsome, well- 
built man, his golden hair curling around a bright, 
sun-burned face, and in a clear voice he told the 
story of his leaving the mill, and how in that 
lonely valley beyond the forest his companion 
had tried to take his life. At this point the tale 
was taken up by the sub-prior. 

“ It was that evening I was called to visit a 
poor charcoal-burner on his death-bed. As I 
bore the Host with me on my mule, I bade the 
boy who was to guide me to the hut, ring by my 
side a bell to warn all hearers of the Holy Pres- 
ence on the road. The daylight was fading as 
we threaded our way beneath the pines, though 
the skirts of the wood were still bright with sun- 
set colors. The lad beside me was chattering 
foolishly of trolls and elves. Just then we heard 
the thud of a horse’s hoofs galloping amain in 
the forest. 

“ The foolish child cried out that some spirit 
of the woods was rushing past, but I silenced 
him, holding up the Presence which never fails 
to guard us from danger, and we pressed forward 


22 Stories From William Morris 

again. We left the wood, and turned down the 
hillside, where the sound of the horse’s hoofs was 
lost to our ears. At the foot of the slope we 
saw a figure stretched across our path. It was 
this Michael, our dear son, who, as he has told 
you, my lord, was sadly wounded. He lay with 
a knife in his side, while his blood flowed in a 
dark red stream upon the grass. We lifted him 
to the mule’s back, and so brought him through 
the oaks and hollies of the next wood to the 
charcoal-burner’s cottage — a poor dark hovel, 
which you may have marked, O King, while 
hunting in that part of the forest. The ruins of 
a cattle shed stand by its side, and no other 
building is in sight. In that hut I dressed our 
Michael’s wound. I shrived the poor man to 
whom I had been brought (though indeed there 
was no call to do so, seeing that his illness was 
not unto death). Then when I left my two sick 
friends there next morning, a leech was sent in 
my place, and under his care Michael soon re- 
covered. He joined us at the abbey, where we 
taught him letters, thinking to see him a monk 
in after years. But bright though he is at books, 
and anxious to please us whom he loves, yet he 
cares not to take holy vows. Therefore our 
Father Abbot declared that he might serve God 


with the sword since he likes not the beads, and 
he was given a place amongst our fighting men. 
The knife he wears is the one which his false 
friend thrust in his side. Let the King see the 
blade, Michael.” 

The King’s face had grown pale with anxiety, 
his eyes were wild, and his voice, when next he 
spoke, sounded harsh and rasping. “ My Lord 
Abbot,” he said, “ methinks your man-at-arms 
looks better suited to live at court than in the 
abbey. Could you part with him, think you ? ” 

He hardly listened to the Abbot's assent. In 
Michael’s hand he saw the knife which he him- 
self had given to his squire that autumn morn- 
ing. And as he stared at the words on the hilt: 
“ Strike ! for no dead man cometh back !'" he 
forgot everything before him, and in despair his 
mind wandered back to the prophecy that the 
lad, whom twice he had given over to death, was 
destined to be king. 

Michael had been but ten days in service at 
the palace when the King sent for him, and, 
holding out a sealed letter, told him that he was 
to ride south to the Rose Castle, where the Prin- 
cess Cecily was living, and there deliver his note 
to the seneschal. “ The journey can be done in 
three days,” said he. My captain, Hugh, shall 


24 Stories From William Morris 

ride with you the first day to show you the road. 
Be true to your trust, my man, and this ride may 
change your fortunes.’’ 

In his heart the King hoped that Hugh would 
raise a quarrel with the new squire, and end the 
dispute by the sword, for no young man-at-arms 
could possibly escape death if he came to blows 
with that burly captain. But though Hugh, dark- 
browed and black-hearted, was a most disagree- 
able and insolent comrade, Michael controlled 
his temper, and thus an open quarrel was avoided. 
At the crossroads where they parted, the cap- 
tain bowed low in his saddle, and raised his 
plumed hat with mock ceremony : “ Farewell, 
sweet lord. You press on southward to win 
some prize — an earl’s coronet perchance ? Bet- 
ter that than the Princess’s favor, which, I beg 
you to remember, is apt to lead to the dungeon.” 

Of this Michael took no more notice than of 
the many other gibes that Hugh had already 
flung in his face. But how glad he felt to be 
quit of his companion and free to ride alone 
along the sweet country roads ! After a night’s 
rest at a village inn, he set out again in the early 
morning when the grass was sparkling with dew, 
and spiders’ gossamer hung gray upon the hedges. 
Another day was spent in the saddle; another 


The Man Born to be King 25 

night he slept at a wayside hostel. Some six 
hours’ riding on the third morning brought him 
across a bleak table-land, and then to his joy he 
gained the edge, from which he looked down 
upon the valley, where, beneath the haze of an 
autumn noonday, shone the gray towers of the 
Rose Castle. In the corn-fields the harvesters 
were busy with the sickle, and sight and sounds 
alike reminded him of the happy days he had 
spent as a boy at the old mill. How far away 
were those scenes of his childhood ! 

Betwixt vineyards and fields of yellow corn he 
passed to the castle, where he found the gates 
standing open, and the drawbridge let down, as 
apparently it had been for years past. In the 
moat beneath his feet he saw shoals of goldfish 
lying amongst the water-lilies ; while, as undis- 
turbed and peaceful as the goldfish, in the arch- 
way lay the warder fast asleep, with his hand upon 
a harp. The quiet was broken by the sound of 
Michael’s horse clattering across the drawbridge, 
and the warder arose, stretching himself lazily, to 
challenge the rider. Then Michael, showing his 
badge of the King’s service, asked to see the 
seneschal immediately that he might deliver his 
master’s scroll. 

“ He is too busy feasting in the hall to attend 


26 Stories From William Morris 


to any message at this moment, so you must wait 
a while, friend. Come,” continued the warder, 
picking up his harp eagerly, “ you shall sit 
down and hear my best song. The Kaiser lieth 
on his Bier. Don’t tell me you have never heard 
of that famous Red Beard ! Why, man, it is a 
real treat to listen to that ballad. And when 
you have had the Kaiser, I can give you some 
other very pretty pieces too — oh, well, if you 
don’t want to listen, I am not going to force my 
minstrelsy on you. Perhaps you would rather 
go and rest in the old pleasance? You have 
only to cross the drawbridge, go down the stone 
steps on the left to the falconer’s path, and at the 
end of that you will see the wicket-gate that 
opens into the gardens.” 

Michael thanked him for his second proposal, 
which at that moment was more attractive to the 
way-worn traveler than the first. He promised, 
however, to come and hear the ballads another 
day ; then, giving over his horse to a stable-boy, 
he wandered into the pleasance. The wealth of 
golden and crimson fruit against the old stone 
walls, the soft grass paths, and the drowsy play 
of a fountain in the midst of the lawn — all that 
the gardens contained was an enchantment to 
Michael. Some old song of his boyhood rose 


The Man Born to be King 27 

now and again to his lips ; soothed by the sights 
and sounds around him, he threw himself down 
on the grass beside the fountain, and there he fell 
asleep. 

The Rose Castle sheltered a band of very happy 
maidens that autumn month. Princess Cecily 
was there, prepared to do her father's will by 
marrying the unknown suitor when the King 
should bring him to the castle, but in the mean- 
time no idle dreams about a lover distracted her 
thoughts from the simple pleasures of her daily 
life. Surrounded by her girl friends, she wished 
no greater happiness than they all enjoyed from 
day to day in that peaceful country house ; a 
husband, she believed, could not make her life 
more pleasant than it was already. 

This afternoon she slipped into the pleasance 
with her favorite companion. Lady Agnes, and 
chatting merrily the two girls came toward 
the fountain beside which Michael lay asleep. 
It was Agnes who caught sight of his form in 
the grass, and though she glanced at first but 
carelessly, she was surprised into taking a longer 
survey the next minute. 

The Princess, who had passed on without her, 
heard her excited voice praying her to turn back. 


28 Stories From William Morris 


Come," she whispered, “ come and see the 
young prince whom our gracious King has chosen 
to be your bridegroom. Did I not tell you he 
would come himself to woo you ? See, he is 
sleeping by the mid-fountain, dressed in the guise 
of a court servant." 

Cecily frowned a little, and drew herself up. 
“ Indeed, I have no wish to see my future hus- 
band," she said coldly. “ Not that I will refuse 
my hand if my father wishes me to marry, but 
for my part I would rather escape wedlock ; I 
shall have duties enough when I, my parents’ 
only child, am crowned Queen of this country." 

Little Lady Agnes tapped the ground im- 
patiently with her foot. “ I have heard you say 
all that before, dear Princess, but I am sure you 
will think differently when you see this handsome 
suitor who has dropped from the skies. Let us 
run back before he takes wing to fly away." 
And, seizing her mistress by the hand, she 
actually dragged her back to the fountain. 

Cecily turned with heightened color and a 
quicker breath, but there was no tenderness in 
her eyes when she first bent over the sleeping 
horseman. Yet as she gazed on his handsome 
features and manly, well-built figure, love all of a 
sudden stitred within her heart. She never 


The Man Born to be King 29 

doubted that the noble-looking stranger, whose 
dusty dress showed he had traveled a great dis- 
tance, was, as Agnes had concluded, the bride- 
groom chosen for her by the King himself ; and 
that he should have come in disguise to do his 
wooing, pleased her fancy the more she thought 
it over. 

She was looking down upon him with strange, 
shy delight when her companion, with a stifled 
cry of horror, turned to her, and held out a scroll 
of parchment. It was the King’s letter to the 
seneschal which, falling from Michael’s pocket. 
Lady Agnes had picked up and opened. Cecily 
noted her father’s name and seal upon the scroll, 
and yet hardly could she believe that he had sent 
the message when she read : — 

“To the Lord Seneschal of Our Rose Castle, 
greeting. 

“ The King biddeth thee instantly put to death 
the traitor who beareth this note. Let his head 
be set upon a spear at the crossways before the 
castle, and there let it remain until we see it on 
our passing — so perish the King’s enemies.” 

“ Can we not save his life. Princess ? ” sobbed 
Lady Agnes. 

“ Yes,” replied Cecily, her lips white but firmly 
set. “ I am going to find a way to save him, and 


30 Stories From William Morris 

while I am absent, Agnes, you must watch by his 
side. If others enter the pleasance, waken him, 
warn him of the danger, and urge him to con- 
ceal himself.” 

She turned again to look tenderly at Michael 
before she left the pleasance. An hour ago 
she had not known what love could mean, 
and now she was ready to risk deep disgrace, 
to give her life even, if only she could save this 
stranger ! 

Then she ran to her own room in the castle, 
hastening all the more because her squires and 
attendants would soon be coming out of the din- 
ing-hall, and she feared to meet them lest they 
should notice the letter which she was carrying. 
Amongst her books she found a scroll that 
was signed and sealed by the King but had been 
left blank. Upon this she wrote with a firm, 
clerkly hand the words : — 

“ Kind greetings from the King unto Sir Rafe, 
Seneschal of Our Rose Castle. 

“ It is our will that the Princess Cecily be 
wedded to the bearer of this scroll. Question 
him not about his name or race; sufficient to you 
that we know him well and are pleased to make 
him our heir. Let the wedding be held the same 
day on which you receive our order, and let the 


The Man Born to be King 31 

bridegroom be acknowledged by all as master 
and future King.” 

Closing this letter, and carefully burning the 
grim order which she had borne away from 
Michael, the Princess ran back to the pleasance. 
Happily, she met none of her people upon the 
way ; and Agnes, awaiting her anxiously, took 
the freshly written scroll at her command, and 
thrust it into the sleeper’s belt in the place where 
the death warrant had lain. 

No sooner had the Princess accomplished the 
plot than her courage gave way. She turned 
aside, pale and trembling, to think that she had 
defied her father’s will and committed herself to 
marry in a few hours the stranger who had been 
sentenced to a shameful death. Aroused by a 
soft touch upon her arm, she let herself be drawn 
gently to the farther end of the pleasance, where 
her lady-in-waiting cheered her with hopeful 
words. 

“ If you will take the wine and fruit which I 
have just brought to the bower,” said Lady 
Agnes, returning after a few minutes’ absence, 
“ I will sit by your feet and tell you my thoughts. 
Princess. It seems to my mind that there is 
naught to shame you in wedding this gallant and 
brave-looking young squire. I remember once 


32 Stories From William Morris 

hearing that a seer had foretold your husband 
should be of humble birth, so why should we fear 
what is, after all. Heaven’s will ? He is of noble 
mould, we can see, and is not that of more value 
than noble race ? Be sure, dear Princess, that all 
will go well. Listen ! I hear Sir Rafe and his 
train coming, no doubt to break to you news that 
we already know. We must play our part 
bravely.” 

Cecily hearkened to the seneschal’s message 
with such grave interest that her lords never 
doubted but that their tidings took her by sur- 
prise. With maidenly dignity she answered that 
she was ready to do what was required of her 
that day by her lord the King, and, followed by 
her train of attendants, she presently entered the 
great hall where Sir Rafe had arranged that she 
should meet her bridegroom. Hitherto, in sight 
of her people, she had moved with the stateliness 
of a princess, but now as she advanced toward 
the dais, a bright flush rose to her cheeks, her 
eyes fell shyly, and an unwonted timidity took 
possession of her, because there, at the end of the 
hall, stood Michael, her chosen bridegroom, the 
man whom so lately she had saved from death. 
He still wore his travel-stained riding-dress, with 
her father’s badge upon his breast ; and though 


The Man Born to be King 33 

he himself could hardly believe that the King’s 
orders were true, the lords at the Rose Castle 
were not astonished at his good fortune when 
they beheld his frank and noble bearing. The 
strange tidings, which had as yet only perplexed 
him, gave rise on the instant he saw the Princess 
to visions of surpassing happiness. As she had 
loved him at first sight, so he in his turn wor- 
shiped her winsome face before he had even 
heard her voice. 

In simple words she bade him welcome to the 
castle, and told him modestly that, as her father 
approved him so highly, she would trustfully give 
him her hand, knowing that the King’s choice 
was well. “ And may you make my days as 
happy as I would fain make yours,” she ended 
wistfully. 

Michael’s voice was very tender as he thanked 
her for her words and told her how eagerly he 
longed to show his gratitude to the King for this 
undreamed-of favor. And if he would give his 
life for such a kind master, what could he offer 
to a bride whom he already adored ? In their 
wedded life he would give her all that was his to 
give — honor and love unmeasured — and he 
prayed God that she would find him ever a true 
helpmate. 


34 Stories From William Morris 

Then amid the ringing of the chapel bells and 
the solemn chanting of the choir, the bishop 
moved forward to the altar, where he united 
Cecily and Michael in a happy bond which 
henceforth no man could rend asunder. 

On a crisp autumn morning, when the corn- 
fields and vineyards stood bare and the yellow 
leaves were falling thick upon his path, the King 
came riding slowly toward the Rose Castle. It 
was the day on which he had intended to bring 
Cecily her royal bridegroom, but alas for his 
plans ! news had reached him that his intended 
son-in-law had been slain in some petty 
war. He came, therefore, only to tell his 
daughter of her loss. He was drawing near the 
crossroads, where he looked to see Michael’s 
head fixed on the spear, when he heard the 
sound of music and the prancing of many horses. 
This somewhat surprised him until he reflected 
that the tumult might arise from a welcome pre- 
pared for the young prince whom he had hoped 
to bring with him to-day. Just then he turned 
a sharp corner and came in sight of the cross- 
ways, where, behold ! no rival’s transfixed head, 
but the gayest of pageants awaited him. Head- 
ing the procession came a band of sweet-voiced 


The Man Born to be King 3J 

maidens, dressed in gold and white robes ; next 
minstrels, lords, knights, archers, and swordsmen, 
with noise of martial music and of clashing arms. 
It was with very grave misgivings that the King 
drew rein to await the explanation of this brilliant 
spectacle. The crowds parted. Between the 
two long lines of attendants walked Michael and 
Cecily hand-in-hand toward the horror-stricken 
King. Not even his irate Majesty could deny 
that they were well matched, for they looked 
equally noble and handsome as they came for- 
ward in their royal robes, beneath a banner 
borne by two ancient knights. Unable to look 
into the eyes of the radiant couple as they 
reached his side, the King scowled above their 
heads at the old seneschal, who stood in the 
background. What means this tomfoolery. 
Sir Rafe ? ” he shouted gruffly. 

Cecily felt herself turn pale and faint; she 
clasped Michael’s hand very tightly; but before 
any one could answer him, the King went on : 
“ So my young messenger got here safely 
enough ? " 

“ Oh, yes, your Majesty,” replied old Sir Rafe, 
thankful to hear this simpler question ; “ and, 
following your orders, I saw the Princess wedded 
to him that same afternoon.” 


36 Stories From William Morris 

The King sat silent in his saddle. “ Too late, 
too late now to struggle against Fate’s decree,” 
ran his thoughts. My only child is mated to 
him ; they must share my throne as they share 
all else. Ah, why did 1 embitter my days by this 
vain struggle to put down him who was born to 
rise to the throne ? The woodman’s son shall be 
my heir. I will yield to Fate, give up these useless 
plots against his life, and spend my remaining 
days free of the vexation that has oppressed me, 
time and again, these twenty years.” 

The battle with his feelings was successfully 
fought in less time than it takes to record, and 
the King’s face relaxed. Turning to his people 
with a smile, he cried : “ Long live my two 

children ! Behold Prince Michael, your new 
King ! From this time forward he shall share 
the throne with me, and when I go to join my 
fathers, he shall reign in my stead. It pleases 
me to see that you have already done him honor 
by this pageant, which, I own, took me at first 
by surprise. The more you see of our Prince the 
more you will honor him ; and let me tell you 
now that he comes of a race that is no less an- 
cient than our own, for ere the ancient city of 
Damascus was founded his forefathers had dwelt 
in the far East for many a generation. Think 


The Man Born to be King 37 

not the less of your new master, then, because he 
came in the guise of a squire unto the Rose 
Castle. I have tried him by the severest tests, 
and have ever found him brave, noble, and wise.” 

Then, leaping from his horse, the King hailed 
the seneschal ; and in return, he declared, for his 
trusty services in uniting the two young people, 
he raised him to the rank of a duke. Thereafter 
he offered a hand to Cecily and to Michael, and 
joyfully, through the midst of applauding crowds, 
they passed together to the beautiful old Rose 
Castle. 

Long and happily the old monarch and his 
children lived in that fair kingdom, and of all 
who ever wore its crown, none was more 
honored and beloved of the people than King 
Michael, the woodman’s son. 


Atalanta’s Race 


T he town of King Schoeneus lay bathed 
in a flood of April sunshine, when a 
noble young huntsman, tired of his 
sport in the deep forest, wandered through its 
unguarded gateway. It surprised him to find the 
streets deserted, but before long he discovered 
the reason. Toward one quarter of the city 
crowds were streaming with grave faces and 
many anxious words. Filled with curiosity 
young Milanion joined the throng, and presently 
found himself on an open space where tiers of 
seats looked down on a race-course that curved 
round the turning-post at its middle point. Be- 
neath a canopy King Schoeneus sat enthroned in 
the midst of his councilors, while close by his 
throne stood a golden image of the sun-god 
Apollo, and a silver image of the goddess of the 
moon, Diana. A brazen altar was there, and at 
the side of it a giant-like man held a sword, 
against whose shining steel was laid a wreath of 
yellow flowers. A herald was also on the scene 

38 


Atalanta’s Race 


39 

— a herald in gold and crimson array, with his 
horn even now raised to his lips. 

But it was the sight of the runners in the com- 
ing race that most interested Milanion. There 
were but two of them, bending foot to foot at 
the starting-point. The one, a young man of a 
slim, well-knit figure, his crisp locks crowned 
with a small golden circlet, and in his hand an 
olive branch, that betokened his prayers for a 
happy, peaceful ending to the contest. He was 
trembling with excitement, and his eyes were 
bent longingly and anxiously upon his rival in 
the race. Unlike the first, the other combatant 
showed a calmness that would have been re- 
markable in any man facing such an ordeal, but 
was the more so in that it was here displayed by 
a young girl ! She stood there, tall and supple, 
her gray eyes untroubled, and her smooth, white 
brow free from any trace of anxiety. 

It was now sundown, and as the great fiery 
globe dropped beneath the western sky-line, the 
herald blew a loud blast on his horn, and in- 
stantly a little cloud of dust rose from the track 
down which man and maiden sprang from the 
line. Their course was swift as the wind. Side 
by side they rounded the turning-post at the 
farther end, and when the onlookers saw that they 


40 Stories From William Morris 

were still abreast, and the race already half run, 
cries of joy arose, and the crowds shouted words 
of encouragement, all directed toward the young 
man. Milanion had scarcely time to wonder why 
no one wished the girl well before the race was 
over. Piqued by the cheering that was given to 
her opponent, she caught up her fluttering robe, 
with an easy grace outran him, and ere he could 
dash forward she had laid her fingers on the 
goal! Her cheeks were not over-flushed, nor 
her eyes sparkling with triumph ; quietly, and 
with a bearing that was less proud than at the 
outset of the race, she turned away from the 
winning-post. 

And then Milanion understood why the people 
had wished the young man to outstrip her, for, 
stopping short when he saw the maiden reach 
the goal, the vanquished runner gazed at her with 
dull, dim eyes, and as she disappeared he stifled 
a groan of despair. He dropped on his knees 
before the huge-limbed swordsman ; the flowers 
were shaken off the sword, the naked steel 
flashed in the air — and the poor young fellow 
lay dead beneath its stroke. 

The crowd broke up silently, and scattered in 
little groups that sought to forget the sad end of 
the race by busying themselves with talk of other 


Atalanta's Race 


41 


matters. Milanion saw from the manner in 
which they took it, that such a sight as that 
afternoon’s was not unusual in their city, so 
stepping up to an old man he begged to know 
why death was the penalty for losing the race, 
and whether the young girl was mortal or, as 
he judged from her beauty, a goddess upon 
earth. 

“ Stranger,” cried the old man with a blaze of 
anger, “ I pray that she who runs these wicked 
races may be taken from our earth ! She is no 
goddess, forsooth, but the daughter of King 
Schoeneus. Her upbringing was rough, and in 
that, methinks, lies some excuse for the hard 
heart she shows now. 

** When she was born, her father was wroth to 
have a girl child, and ordered his servants to 
take the infant to the woods, and leave it to perish 
there. ( Ah ! no wonder the daughter of such a 
man is cold-hearted, and dreads to marry lest her 
husband be unkind as her father.) Well, Ata- 
lanta, the infant, was, happily, befriended in the 
forest ; at first, they say, by a great shaggy bear, 
who, instead of hugging the life out of the little 
one, nursed her amongst a litter of shapeless cubs, 
and when one day this mother bear was killed 
by our woodmen, one of them picked up the 


42 Stories From William Morris 

child, and had her reared in his cottage. She 
grew to be a true daughter of the woods, skilled 
with her bow and arrows, while in swiftness of 
foot there is no man in the country — none, per- 
chance, in the world — to equal her. 

“ Years passed, and the gods punished King 
Schoeneus for his unfatherly act by sending him 
no other child, so that he came to pine sadly for 
the daughter whom he had long ago cast from 
him. At length Atalanta happened to come to 
the city, and, her strange history being noised 
abroad, the King heard of her, recognized his 
child by some sign, and with tears of joy wel- 
comed her to his palace. 

“ Schceneus is now a kind-hearted, gentle king, 
who would fain see his daughter wed happily ; 
but she, proud maid, has vowed to the goddess, 
Diana, that whoso wishes to make her his bride 
must first run a race with her. If the suitor 
wins the race, he wins also his bride, but if he 
fails to reach the winning-post before Atalanta, 
then must he forfeit his life on the spot. Many 
a gallant man has risked his life, and lost it, for 
love of the fleet-footed girl. 

“ Thine eyes are shining, stranger, as though 
thou wouldst make the trial thyself! Nay, I 
implore thee, dream not of wedding Atalanta. 


Atalanta's Race 


43 

Her nimble feet would outstrip thee as easily as 
they sped past that young knight to-day, for all 
that he ran more swiftly than her former suitors. 
The goddess Diana herself is on the maiden’s 
side.” 

Milanion could not banish from his thoughts 
the story of Atalanta or the remembrance of her 
supple beauty. He went back to the forest, but 
found that hunting had lost its charms ; he wan- 
dered through Argive cities, and won great re- 
nown in the public games ; but still he was dis- 
satisfied, and saw in his mind another race-course, 
where he would have a white-footed girl to com- 
pete with, and where the prize would be infinitely 
dearer to him than any that he had hitherto con- 
tended for. 

A month had not passed before he entered 
King Schoeneus’ city a second time. He found 
the course prepared for another race, and the 
next evening saw one more suitor worsted by 
Atalanta, and slain accordingly beneath the 
statue of Diana. Yet Milanion thought less of 
the hapless man’s fate than of that chance of 
gaining bliss untold for which life after life had 
been thrown away. He knew now that he was 
hopelessly in love with Atalanta, and that noth- 
ing could stop his longing to enter the lists. He 


44 Stories From William Morris 

must go in and win her — or die. Was he as swift 
as she ? He hardly dared hope so, unsurpassed 
though he had proved in the ArgiVe races. 
But without her, life was worthless and empty ; 
and at last he determined that he would at least 
end his misery by pitting himself against her. 

After a long, restless night he rose, and 
roamed about the town until the hour arrived at 
which Schoeneus took his seat upon the ivory 
throne in the market-place to give judgment to 
his people and hear their requests. The anxious 
face of the young stranger as he pressed forward 
toward the King’s throne told its own story. 
Too often had the townsfolk seen a gallant lad 
present himself before the King to ask the fatal 
favor of racing with the unconquerable maiden. 

Schceneus himself guessed the answer he would 
receive as he inquired if it were to gain this per- 
mission that the unknown youth stood before 
him. 

“ It is, O King,” replied the other, “ and I 
trust it will be granted me to make the attempt. 
Fear not that I who seek the hand of Atalanta 
am of unworthy family. King Amphidamus is 
my father, and his crown is mine after him.” 

“ Nay then. Prince,” said Schoeneus very 
earnestly, “ thou shouldst not throw away thy 


Atalanta’s Ract 


45 


life, which is dear to a whole kingdom. Believe 
me, the goddess Diana has given my daughter a 
fleetness of foot that no man can equal, and if 
thou art beaten in the race no power upon earth 
can save thee from the sword. Already I fear 
the anger of the gods for all the deaths that lie 
at our door, and I beg thee, for mine own 
sake as well as thine, to forego this mad enter- 
prise.” 

But Milanion stoutly refused to retire. He 
waited only to know how soon the contest might 
take place. Why not to-day, said he — the sooner 
his fate was decided the less suspense he would 
have to suffer. But the King would not hear of 
such haste. He declared that, since Milanion in- 
sisted on the race, it would be held in a month's 
time, and not a day sooner. For that month he 
invited the young man to be his guest at the 
palace — an invitation which Milanion, however, 
did not choose to accept, dreading perhaps that 
to see Atalanta in the interval might unnerve 
him for the trial. He told the King that he pre- 
ferred to wander from one shrine to another, 
making what vows he could, to gain aid from the 
gods in this issue of life and death ; and he must 
also return to Argos to see his friends again — it 
might be for the last time. 


46 Stories From William Morris 

And so with expressions of good will on 
either side, mingled with sad forebodings, King 
Schoeneus bade Milanion farewell. 

On the shore of Argolis stood a temple to 
Venus, the sea-born goddess. Her image was 
placed between the pillars that marked the top 
of a small flight of steps, up which the blue waves 
crept twice a day until they kissed the white feet 
of the marble goddess. The temple was but a 
tiny place, yet nowhere in Greece could you have 
found a richer store of treasures than when you 
passed through the lines of myrtle-trees and 
pushed ajar the great brass doors that guarded 
the landward side of Venus’ shrine. 

It was hither that Milanion brought mirrors fit 
for the very goddess of beauty to gaze in, carved 
bowls of the rarest handiwork, and bales of soft 
Indian silks. With these offerings he came to 
pray the goddess of the temple for her help in 
the contest with Diana’s maiden. 

“ Aid me, O Queen of Love, and grant me 
victory over thy fair rebel,” he cried, “ for never 
has man loved Atalanta as I ! Until the day 
when I must go to meet my death, I will not 
leave thy temple unless thou sendest me a token 
of thy favor. Oh ! help me, Venus, to win the 


Atalanta’s Race 


47 

fleet-footed maiden to be thy servant and my 
bride.” 

True to his word, Milanion waited beside the 
altar of the Goddess of Love. Many an hour 
passed ; the gold of sunset changed to the deep 
blue shades of a summer evening ; the midnight 
hymn floated from the inner court, where a sweet- 
faced band of maidens clustered beneath the 
flickering torches ; the little waves rose rippling 
over the steps beneath him ; but the prince 
noted nothing — not though the rising sea tossed 
its light spray against his face did he move from 
his station beneath the image of fair Venus. 
And in time he got his answer. 

Between the fading of night and the dawning 
of the new day, the South grew shining bright 
with the passage of a wonderful cloud that lit up 
sea and sky as it floated on the crests of the ad- 
vancing billows. Venus was on her way to her 
temple ! Milanion bent his head, and threw his 
mantle across his eyes as the dazzling vision drew 
near and the fragrance of the heavenly queen 
was wafted from the cloud of mist in which she 
was veiled. 

A sweet voice, clear as a bell, told him that his 
whole-hearted cry to Venus had been heard, and 
that the goddess would aid him to win the 


48 Stories From William Morris 

maiden from Diana, who frowned upon the 
weaknesses of love. On the steps of the altar 
he would find three golden apples, dropped from 
the white hand of Venus herself. These he must 
carry with him to the race ; let him but roll one 
of them past Atalanta and the young girl would 
not fail to turn aside in pursuit of it, so lovely 
was the fruit and so irresistible its charm. 

With a parting reminder that she who had 
done so much for him, would look for worship 
from Milanion and his bride in the happy future, 
the clouded figure glided from the sea-worn steps, 
where in the gray dawn gleamed Atalanta’s lure 
— three marvelous heaven-sent apples of beaten 
gold. 

At length the day has come when Milanion 
stands beside the white- footed maiden upon the 
course, sand-strewn for their race, while crowds 
have gathered, awaiting the wonted spectacle of 
a fresh suitor’s defeat and death. But does not 
this young prince bear himself confidently ? ” 
murmur the bystanders. “ Those who afore- 
time entered the lists with Atalanta looked wan 
and anxious ; this man has a glow of joyous hope 
on his face and holds himself as one who means 
to win.” 


Atalanta’s Race 


49 


What others were remarking was not un- 
noticed by the girl at Milanion’s side. She felt 
his eyes rest on her with no pleading look of 
farewell, but full of the gentleness that comes of 
assured strength. With a sudden start of sur- 
prise she wondered whether, since he meant to 
succeed, he might not do so ; then she went on 
to think how sad a fate it would be for such a 
gallant prince to be slain at the end of the course. 
She would be sorry, would she not, when she 
won ? 

Just then the trumpet gave the signal, and, 
throwing aside what scruples were gathering in 
her mind, she sped forward, determined to play 
her part, and do her best to outstrip the man who 
was racing for dear love of her. She darted past 
Milanion so swiftly that the crowds shouted his 
case was hopeless, when, lo ! a round golden 
apple was flung from his hand, and rolled past 
Atalanta some distance out of the track. The 
words that Venus had spoken were true: the 
swift-footed maiden was tempted aside to pick 
up the enticing prize, and while she swerved from 
the course, Milanion gained the lead. 

To regain the advantage, Atalanta pressed on 
more eagerly than before. The bow that she 
was wont to carry in her hand, as a sign that she 


50 Stories From William Morris 

was devoted to the huntress-maiden, Diana, was 
dropped when she stooped to seize the golden 
apple of Venus, and at the same time three 
arrows slipped from the quiver slung across her 
shoulder. Yet she prayed her patron goddess to 
remember her handmaid ; and Diana still counted 
the maiden hers, and lent her the greater swift- 
ness of foot. Milanion’s hand was on the turn- 
ing-post when Atalanta sprang round the bend 
of the track in front of him. 

Another golden ball rolled glittering across the 
sandy path, and lay, a tempting sight, out of the 
course, but not out of the maiden’s sight. She 
hesitated, thought perchance of the ease with 
which she had but now gained on her rival, and 
then allowed herself to turn aside to secure this 
second treasure. Both apples she held in the 
folds of her robe, and with it well gathered about 
her, she flew on her way till once more she was 
abreast of Milanion. The two runners were now 
fast approaching the goal ; the crowds stood 
motionless with excitement, for though all saw 
that the girl was the swifter of the two, it seemed 
just possible that Milanion might once again 
tempt her to leave the course. And this was, 
indeed, the case. He flung the third apple across 
her path, and the wonderful charm of the fruit 


Atalanta’s Race 


51 

overcame the white-footed Atalanta as she saw it 
gleam before her eyes. She had time, she cried 
to herself, to snatch it up like the others, and 
still to come first to the goal, and win the vic- 
tory that meant, alas ! death to the noblest suitor 
against whom she had ever contended. 

She darted aside, and raised the prized apple 
from the dust. Then she lightly turned to speed 
toward the winning-post. But what means that 
hoarse roar of applause, that deafening shout of 
joy from the crowd that a moment ago was 
breathlessly silent ? She sees as she lifts her 
eyes to the goal that her rival already stands 
there ! He has won the race, and escaped death ; 
he has gained Atalanta as his bride. A few 
faltering steps, and she is at the end of the 
course, and as Milanion’s strong arms are thrown 
around her, she is glad at heart that he has 
proved himself the victor ! 


The Writing on the Image 

T his is a tale of sorcery, so, although 
you hear of its happening in the old 
historic town of Rome, you will hardly 
look for any mention of it in her city annals, 
where the true is sifted from the false. 

In the heart of the town, says our story, there 
once stood an image, cut in hard cornel wood, on 
whose outstretched hand were carved the words 
Percute hie — Strike here ! For more than two 
hundred years the image stood through storm 
and sunshine in the busy square, pointing its 
finger with that strange bidding to every passer- 
by ; but while many a man paused to marvel, no 
one, in all those years, had guessed the secret of 
the letters. 

At length came a man who read the simple 
words aright. He was a scholar, from the island 
of Sicily, whose life of toilsome study had 
furnished his mind with boundless magic lore, 
but had brought him little to relieve the pinch of 
poverty. From the moment that his eyes first 

52 


The Writing on the Image 


53 


rested on the image, Rome and the other famous 
cities he had seen on his travels held, to his 
thinking, no greater wonder than this uncouth 
little wooden figure. Day after day he turned 
his steps to the square, and prowled around the 
statue in search of a clue to its mystery, for well 
he knew from his studies that it was the work 
of a cunning magician. 

“ He was a crafty master who raised this 
monument,” he murmured to himself as he stood 
before the image one midday. “ There’s black 
magic here. I’ll be bound.” 

Just then the sun broke through the clouds 
that were flitting across the sky, and in the 
sudden flood of sunshine the image threw a short 
black shadow on the ground. 

Aha ! ” exclaimed the Scholar excitedly, “ I 
have it ! Now I have it ! ” 

He glanced behind him, and, making sure that 
no one was near enough to notice his move- 
ments, he bent down to the place where lay the 
shadow of the pointing finger. With his knife 
he scratched a little circle to mark the exact spot 
upon the paving-stones. Then he returned to 
his lodgings, and waited as patiently as he could 
until night fell and the streets were deserted. 

At midnight he crept quietly from the house, 


54 Stories From William Morris 

\Vith lantern, pick-axe, and spade in hand, and a 
stout leathern sack on his shoulders. Through 
the slumbering town he stole back to the square, 
and, finding the mark which he had made in the 
morning, he set to work with his tools, broke 
through the pavement, and before long he had 
dug a great deep hole in the ground. At length 
his spade struck against something hard, that 
clanged harshly to his blow. Raising his lantern, 
the Scholar peered into the hole, and saw that he 
had come upon a brass ring as thick as a man’s 
wrist, and green with rust. It was fixed to a 
large copper plate, on which were wonderful 
carvings of flowering trees, and beasts, and 
strange figures of evil. Plain warning was given 
by these unholy symbols that he who raised the 
plate would be intermeddling with works of the 
black art. But our needy Scholar scented treas- 
ures underneath, and, dazzled by the prospect 
of wealth, he was ready to risk body and soul 
alike. 

The old sorcerer,” he said to himself, “ has 
buried vast stores of riches for the first man who 
has wits enough to understand the writing on the 
image ; therefore the prize hidden below this cop- 
per plate is rightly mine. I followed the bidding, 
and struck deep in the ground where the out- 


The Writing on the Image 55 

stretched finger pointed at noonday, and why 
should I now shrink from the hazard ? My 
eternal welfare is of less concern to me to-night 
than this chance of winning a princedom.” 

So, boldly, he put his hand in the ring, and 
gave it a strong pull, fancying that it would need 
his utmost strength to lift the heavy copper 
plate. To his surprise it was easily raised, and 
behind it was disclosed a winding staircase, down 
which the fresh night-wind rushed with a long- 
drawn moan. There was no further need of his 
lantern, for the stairs were lighted by many 
curiously wrought lamps, whose rays fell on walls 
that were covered with paintings of priests, war- 
riors, kings, and fair queens. 

This fine entrance gives promise of riches 
greater even than I dared hope for,” cried the 
Scholar ; and with beating heart he started to run 
down the steps. At the foot of the staircase 
hung a curtain embroidered with gold letters, 
which, with all his learning, the Sicilian could not 
decipher. He swept aside the curtain, and 
stepped forward, only to fall back a pace or two 
as he caught sight of men within. It was a richly 
decorated hall in which he found himself ; at the 
upper end of it ran a dais, and there ( did his 
eyes deceive him, he wondered) sat a royal party 


56 Stories From William Morris 

at table ! His courage failed in the presence of 
these figures, and he turned to flee, when, to his 
dismay, a gust of wind swept down the staircase, 
and blew out every lamp past which it swirled. 
More afraid to grope his way to the outer air 
with these strange people at his back than to 
meet them face to face, the Scholar again raised 
the curtain, and entered the hall. His approach 
caused no stir upon the dais : no finger moved, 
not an eyelid was raised. Creeping cautiously 
forward, he was astonished to find that the 
motionless figures were the bodies of men who 
had long been dead, but so cleverly had each 
body been preserved that even yet it bore the 
exact semblance of life. 

In the centre of the group sat a king, whose 
gray beard fell long and thick over his robes of 
gold. Beside him was the queen, in a hand- 
somely embroidered gown of green, a golden 
mantle hung on her shoulders, while her necklet 
and girdle were studded with glittering jewels. 
On either side of the royal pair stood lords-in- 
waiting. In the background the Scholar saw a 
body-guard of armed men, squires in attendance, 
and minstrels too. Above the king’s head hung 
a golden lamp, and through its rich fretwork 
blazed an enormous carbuncle that filled the 


The Writing on the Image 57 

whole hall with ruddy light. Last of all, the 
intruder noticed that a few paces from the dais 
was placed the statue of an archer, bow in hand, 
with his arrow pointed against the carbuncle 
stone. 

Awe and amazement held the Scholar in check 
for a time. He wandered amongst these mar- 
vels, content only to admire. But his purpose in 
coming was recalled by the thought that night- 
time was fast passing, and before long men would 
be astir in the city overhead. 

“ I must make haste to gather the treasures 
that lie here,” said he. “ Dead men can do me no 
injury though I strip them of their riches.” 

He drew from off his shoulders the leathern 
bag, patched and old, that was to bear away his 
plunder, and, seizing a golden goblet on which 
the hand of the mute king rested, he flung his 
booty into the gaping mouth of the wallet. In 
spite of his reassuring murmurs that the dead 
made easy prey he almost expected the king to 
rise and avenge the theft ; but the figure sat rigid, 
its eyes fixed in a passionless gaze. 

Gaining heart, the Scholar untied the chain of 
gems from the queen’s neck, and stowed it in his 
bag along with the two regal crowns, the jeweled 
shoes and girdles, and other priceless ornamentSo 


58 Stories From William Morris 

By the time that he had satisfied his greed, the 
sack was packed so full that he fairly staggered 
beneath its weight. Just as he was turning 
toward the door his eyes fell on a gem of sur- 
passing splendor. It was a great emerald set 
by itself in the centre of the floor. 

“ That green stone is worth a kingdom ; I’ll 
have it too ! ” he exclaimed ; and down he knelt 
to pick it from its setting. But, try as he might, 
he could not dislodge it. Impatiently he flung 
aside his heavy sack, and strove with both hands 
to wrench up the stone. While his fingers were 
thus busy he happened to glance across the hall. 
What was it now that made him relax his hold 
upon the emerald and spring to his feet with a 
hoarse shriek of terror? He saw the image of 
the archer draw the bowstring, still pointing the 
arrow straight at the carbuncle that glowed in 
the swinging lamp. In wildest alarm the Scholar 
snatched up his wallet, and made ready to dash 
toward the curtained entrance. Too late ! The 
arrow whizzed through the air, struck the brilliant 
red stone, and instantly the light of the carbuncle 
failed. Blackest darkness covered the hall from 
dais to doorway. 

It was long before the Scholar, stunned by 
fright, recovered courage enough to rise from the 


The Writing on the Image 59 

spot where he had fallen. At length he ventured 
to grope his way around the walls, hoping, even 
in the unearthly darkness, to find the opening to 
the staircase. He sought in vain. The wrench- 
ing of the green stone had made the arrow speed 
from the hand of the bowman and strike out the 
light of the glowing carbuncle, and by a like 
cunning contrivance the passage to the outer 
world was closed forever when the covetous 
hand of the intruder had grasped the enticing 
emerald. Imprisoned in the dungeon of riches, 
the Scholar met slow death by starvation ; the 
treasures that elsewhere would have bought 
countless comforts were of no avail to him who 
had thus wittingly risked his life in the magic 
hall. 

On the night of his unhappy venture, just be- 
fore daybreak, a terrible thunder-storm swept 
across Rome. A stroke of lightning destroyed 
the cornel-wood image whose finger had pointed 
the Scholar to his doom. The same thunderbolt 
flung back the copper plate over the mouth of 
the passage, and the heavy rain that followed the 
thunder, washed into the hole the soil which the 
adventurer had flung aside in his digging. Next 
morning men stood and gazed at the charred 
wooden image, but none wondered at the broken 


6o Stories From William Morris 


pavement, which seemed to be likewise only the 
result of the storm. As to the Scholar’s disap- 
pearance, he was too poor and friendless a stranger 
to be missed. 


The Fostering of A slang 

W HEN Brynhild mounted the funeral 
pyre of her dearly-loved Sigurd and 
followed him to the halls of death, 
she left their child, the little three-year-old Aslaug, 
in the care of her foster-father, old Heimir. 

It seemed at first that the sad news of Bryn- 
hild’s end had stunned the old man, so silently 
he sat brooding alone ; but when men saw him 
rise the next morning and seek his smithy, they 
said that he had recovered himself, and had gone 
to forget his grief in some wondrous piece of 
workmanship such as he often forged. 

For ten days he worked behind closed doors, 
and then, somewhat to the surprise of his people, 
he came for Aslaug, the little golden-haired girl, 
and drew her away with him. They wondered 
the more when night fell and neither their old 
master nor the child returned to the house. At 
early morning they rose, to find the smithy door 
wide open, the forge cold, and Heimir’s tools 
thrown aside carelessly, as if his cunning hands 

6i 


62 Stories From William Morris 


had no more use for them. The workshop was 
empty, and man and child were nowhere to be 
found. Then followed a long, fruitless search, 
until a chance whisper gained credit, and Heimir’s 
sorrowing people came to believe that Odin had 
called him to his last home. And if the old hero 
had joined the deathless band, said they, what 
wonder was there that he took with him Bryn- 
hild’s little child to gladden the mother’s heart 
as she dwelt with Freia ? 

So Heimir passed from his home, and his 
people looked for him no more. 

Yet was he still on earth. A night and a day 
he strode through the loneliest parts of his wild 
country — a splendid figure wrapped in a peasant’s 
coarse gray cloak, his thin, bronzed face, eagle- 
like in nose and eyes, half hidden by the rim of 
a slouched hat. By his side hung his sheathed 
sword, and on his shoulder he carried a harp 
fashioned with strangely thick framework. Who 
could have guessed what was to be disclosed 
when, after a long day’s walk, he knelt down in 
the depths of a quiet wood, laid the harp on the 
ground, and, with a touch upon some secret 
spring, threw open the broad bend of the frame- 
work ? Within the hollow lay little Aslaug fast 
asleep, like a rosebud, closely bound in soft. 



SHE NESTLED DOWN IN HIS ARMS. 
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The Fostering of Aslaug 63 

dainty wrappings. She woke beneath Heimir’s 
hand as he unlocked her prison and set her free 
to wander on the grass. Merrily she danced 
amongst the flowers while the old man sat play- 
ing now sweet and glad, and now sad and solemn, 
music on the harp that had been his last work 
ere he left home. When the cool evening breeze 
began to stir the leaves overhead, Aslaug at last 
showed signs of weariness. She nestled down in 
his arms, and together they sat contentedly — she, 
prattling of her happy games, he, musing on their 
secret journey and its cause. 

A small thing it is for Brynhild’s sake and 
her child’s, to leave my home in this manner,” 
ran his thoughts. ** There, without doubt, her 
parents’ foes would have sought my dear little 
Aslaug and tried to kill her ; but now, if only we 
can reach Atli’s land in secret, the child will be 
safe in his keeping, and when my few last years 
are ended, she will still have in him a protector 
against the schemes of the Nibelungs and that 
hateful Grimhild. Oh ! if this journey were but 
safely done, I care not how soon I am called from 
the world ! ” 

From beneath his cloak he pulled out a small 
flask, containing a sleeping potion which he had 
himself prepared, carefully let a few drops fall 


64 Stories From William Morris 

between Aslaug’s lips, and as her eyes closed, 
lifted her gently into the hollow of the harp. A 
few minutes later he was again a lonely minstrel 
on his way through the forest. 

In the darkness of evening he walked as far as 
he could, unable to see where he was going, until 
he came to the edge of the wood, and from the 
hillside heard the sea-waves breaking on the 
rocks below. Looking round for shelter, he saw 
a light in a cottage window, and turned his steps 
accordingly toward the place. His knock at the 
low, tumble- down door was answered by a pee- 
vish voice bidding him come in. 

Within the hovel sat an elderly woman, lean 
and sour-faced. When she saw the tall, gray- 
haired figure before her, she rose, showing herself 
to be of even greater height than Heimir, and 
fixed her ugly, light blue eyes upon him with a 
suspicious stare. 

Her first words were to ask him sneeringly 
whether he had come in her husband’s absence 
to steal his goods, and when Heimir replied that 
all that he sought was a night’s shelter, she made 
him an ungracious answer. 

Well, put down that clumsy, ill-made harp 
of yours, that matches your dress, and no doubt 
your playing. You are no lordly visitor, I see.” 


The Fostering of Aslaug 65 

But though she glanced mockingly at the 
stranger, her sharp eyes had already seen a gleam 
of gold beneath his coarse cloak, and she knew 
from his bearing that he was not a humble way- 
farer. To make certain that she was right in her 
suspicions, she moved up behind him, and looked 
again at the harp. A fringe of some fine gold 
cloth was hanging over a corner of its frame. 
That proved the man was an impostor, she mut- 
tered to herself ; and finally, brushing against his 
cloak as she busied herself preparing a potful of 
porridge, she saw a great gold circlet clasped on 
his arm. Had Heimir noticed her greedy stare at 
that moment, he would have picked up his pre- 
cious burden, and braved the dangers of a night 
amongst the wolves in the forest rather than 
sleep beneath her roof. But his eyes were else- 
where, like his thoughts, and after he had taken 
supper, he was ready to lie down where she 
chose. 

Telling him that her husband would soon be 
in, and that his ill-temper would make the cot- 
tage unbearable to a stranger, she led Heimir to 
the barn, and told him he might sleep in the 
straw. With a scowl on her wicked face, she 
marked that he had picked up his harp and 
carried it from the cottage out of her reach. 


66 Stories From William Morris 

That evening her husband found her pacing 
restlessly about the room, impatient — unusually 
so — for his return. For once wealth was within 
their reach, she cried ; all that he had to do was 
to kill an old gray-haired simpleton who lay 
sound asleep in their barn, and the .goods that he 
had with him would all be theirs. 

The man was afraid to go out and do the deed, 
but he was more afraid to stay where he was and 
refuse, so, urged on by his wife, he crept at gray 
dawn into the barn with a stout spear in his grasp. 
Down in the straw he saw Heimir asleep, his 
sword laid across his knees, and his right hand 
resting amongst the harp strings, that even in his 
sleep he was plucking now and again. The faint 
sound of the strings made the wretch who was 
stealing over the barley straw, stop in sudden ter- 
ror, thinking there was something ghostly in the 
air. Then, seeing from where the breath of 
music had arisen, he drew himself together, 
clenched his teeth, and plunged the spear deep 
into Heimir’s heart. The old hero never 
awakened. His life was ended there, before he 
could take Aslaug the long journey to Atli’s 
land ; but perhaps from their place amidst the 
gods, Brynhild and he still watched over the lit- 
tle one, who was now left in cruel hands, far 


The Fostering of Aslaug 67 

from the help which the good foster-father had 
forsaken his home to procure for her. 

Morning came, and the wicked Grima and her 
husband stripped the dead man of what lay be- 
neath his cloak, but when they turned to pick 
from off the harp the fringed cloth, whose end 
had fluttered from it, they found, to their sur- 
prise, that it was fastened in a hinge, and that 
there seemed to be a secret box in the hollow of 
the instrument. 

In hope of finding hidden treasures, they took 
edged tools, and broke open the hollow, wherein, 
to their unbounded astonishment, they saw what 
Heimir had concealed — little Aslaug, gazing up 
at them with fearless eyes. 

Their disappointment would have been greater 
had not the child been dressed in the daintiest of 
silks, and wrapped in a richly embroidered shawl. 
These took Grima's fancy, and she roughly 
pulled them off the little girl, who, quite unused 
to such handling, and too dazed to speak, stood 
silent before the old hag. 

It was hard that they should have a hungry 
child’s mouth to fill, grumbled the woman, but 
she would make sure that, in time to come, the 
girl made herself useful in the house and proved 
a drudge worth her keep. 


68 Stories From William Morris 


Question after question she put to Aslaug, and 
yet no word crossed the firmly-closed little lips. 
The child was puzzled at the new voice and hurt 
by Grima’s rough ways, so that neither coaxing 
nor threats would make her utter a sound. At 
last the couple concluded she was dumb. ^ They 
took her to the cottage, where the woman dressed 
her in the rags of some of her own old worn 
clothes, and grudgingly gave her each day her 
little portion of food. From the very first, 
Aslaug was expected, a mere infant though she 
was, to fetch and carry for the elder folk what- 
ever she had strength to lift. 

She was a brave little thing, stout-hearted, 
and merry by nature, and before she was many 
years older she had learned to take her part wisely 
in that miserable cottage, doing her work well, 
and setting her teeth to keep back her sobs when 
Grima’s blows fell heavily upon her shoulders. 
Having made up their mind that the child had 
been born dumb, neither husband nor wife spent 
further time in trying to get her to talk, and she, 
being too shy and unhappy to do so at first, was 
still less willing to speak to them later. Never 
did they hear her voice, and never did they guess 
that she had the power to use it. 

Grima had chosen a name for her when they 


The Fostering of Aslaug 69 

could not find out her own. “ I don’t mind giv- 
ing my mother’s name to the little fright,” she 
said, with a laugh, “ so we will call her the 
Crow.” 

It was indeed a hard childhood that Aslaug 
spent with these people, but, thanks to her inde- 
pendent spirit and the light-heartedness with 
which she enjoyed what hours she could snatch 
by herself, fourteen years of that life did not 
make her look either careworn or gloomy. At 
seventeen, she was a tall, slim girl, marvelously 
fair, with a cloud of deep golden hair around her 
face ; and yet her charm did not lie in her beauty 
so much as in the wonderful brightness of her 
smile and her soft, shining gray eyes. How she 
came to be so lovely was the more strange be- 
cause old Grima had done all she could to 
thwart her sweet temper. Aslaug in the cottage 
beside the crabbed pair was a silent girl, quick 
to do her work and escape out of doors to be- 
come the glad, singing Aslaug of the woods and 
hillside. 

One spring day she was tripping after her herd 
of goats, which she had deserted for the pleasure 
of a bathe in the poplar-screened lake, and as her 
little white feet danced amongst the early violets 
and anemones, she laughed to think how Grima 


yo Stories From William Morris 

would scowl at her fairness if she ever chanced 
to look at her less casually. 

How she and her husband love ugliness ! ” 
she sighed. “ When I see them sitting in their 
dirty dress, chuckling over their cleverness in 
killing the old, kind-faced man who brought me 
here fourteen years ago, I sometimes wonder if 
the whole world is not as ugly and cruel as they. 
Yet when I get away from them, and watch that 
stainless sky, and feel the good, fresh wind upon 
me, I know that all is well. You wouldn’t be 
growing here, little flowers, would you, if the 
world were really a loveless place and there was 
no one to care for you ? We are meant to be 
happy, and I will be.” 

At the edge of the woodland she stopped short 
in surprise, for down below, in the calm bay, lay 
anchored a great foreign ship, with dark, flapping 
sails, and a golden dragon carved on the prow. 
It was a sight that she had never seen near the 
shore, though often she had stood and watched 
such vessels sweeping at full sail far out on the 
open. Drawn up on the beach was a small boat 
manned by a few sailors, who had been sent 
ashore, as Aslaug rightly guessed, to bring back 
some fresh provisions to the ship. 

Now, Grima’s was the only dwelling to be 


The Fostering of Aslaug 71 

found above the bay, so perhaps, thought the 
girl, the strangers would be there when she 
brought home her herd of goats. It would-be 
amusing to see new faces and listen to their talk. 
Aslaug did not loiter on the way ; her cheeks 
were rosy with her race down hill when she 
reached the door of the hovel and heard the 
peevish voice of old Grima raised to excuse her- 
self : “ You need not look to me to help you — 

I have not the strength to work as I would 
like — but wait till my daughter, the Crow, comes 
home, and we’ll make her give you what aid you 
need.” 

The girl pushed open the door, and stood 
silent on the threshold, barefoot and bare-headed, 
save that a wreath of wild flowers decked her 
golden hair, a ragged old gown, that had once 
been Grima’s, making her beauty the greater by 
contrast with its shabbiness. The sailors stopped 
talking, and gazed open-mouthed at “ the Crow.” 

One of them turned sharply toward the old 
woman. 

‘‘We don’t need two eyes to see that this is 
not you own child,” he said. 

Grima was furious. “ She’s not like me, is she 
not ? I can tell you I was better looking than 
that hussy when I was her age. Aye ; and her 


72 Stories From William Morris 

mother has a tongue like other honest folk, 
whereas the Crow is dumb as a worm. Well, I 
don’t complain of that, for she works the better, 
I dare say, because she is tongue-tied, and she 
hears all that is said to her. Now start your 
baking, and she’ll bring you more wood if you 
need it.” 

In time the loaves were baked, though how 
the men did their work they could not have told, 
for their sole thought was of the dainty maid who 
worked amidst them ; and much the others envied 
him who stood beside her and had the joy of 
taking the flour from her sweet hands. When no 
further excuse could be found for lingering in the 
cottage, they bade good -night to mother and 
daughter, as Grima insisted they should be called, 
and, mazed and thoughtful, returned with their 
sacks of bread to the great ship. They need not 
have troubled to carry the loaves so far ; the first 
bite proved that the bread was fit only to be 
thrown overboard ! Such an outcry the rest of 
the crew raised against the unfortunate bakers 
that news of their sorry performance came to the 
ears of their master himself. He questioned 
them chaffingly about the baking. 

Ah ! prince,” they stammered, “ there is not 
a man alive who could have done any better in 


The Fostering of Aslaug 73 

that cottage. It was not the blear-eyed, yellow- 
faced old woman who put us off our work — oh, 
no ! It was the young girl who came in, sweet, 
glad-eyed, and fresh as the spring flowers in her 
chaplet ; and when she moved amongst us — fairer 
than Freia we vow — our wits were scattered, and 
we were struck as foolish as the Greak Auk ! ” 

** Nonsense ! ” answered their lord. “ You are 
making too much of the girl’s looks. Was hers, 
in truth, the fairest face you had ever seen ? 
Was she — well, was she as beautiful as the Lady 
Thora, my lovely .wife, now dead ? ” 

One and all, the men replied that, to their 
mind, the girl was more charming even than 
Thora, exquisite though her beauty had been. 

“ If the gods have indeed made two such 
women, they have done passing well,” remarked 
the prince. “ I must see the peasant girl myself 
and listen to her voice.” 

“ But, my lord, the old crone told us her 
daughter was born dumb,” said one of the men. 
“ The maid speaks not a word.” 

“ Well, I can at least see her,” returned their 
lord; “ but as my vow at Yule-tide, not to set 
foot on land, until I entered the lists at Mickle- 
garth, holds me here, you shall go back to the 
cottage, and ask her to come aboard for a little 


74 Stories From William Morris 

time. Tell heir that she will be treated with all 
honor, as though our ship were her father’s 
home.” 

The message was taken to Aslaug next morn- 
ing, and as she could not then answer the sea- 
men in words, she gave her assent by signs. 
Grima listened to the invitation in sullen anger, 
but she feared to offend the men who had 
brought her good pay for the meal and flour 
that they had taken from her, and since the girl’s 
visit to the ship was to be a short one, it seemed 
too small a matter to object to. She, therefore, 
wisely held her peace, although the scowls upon 
her face were eloquent of her feelings. 

What a happy day Aslaug spent in looking 
forward to her visit to the ship ! She had been 
amused watching the rough sailors in Grima’s 
cottage, where hardly ever a stranger crossed the 
threshold, and she had been content to look at 
the beautiful golden-prowed vessel lying out in 
the bay, but what an unexpected joy to be asked 
to come on board, and meet the lord of these 
men and master of the great ship! As, toward 
evening, she set out for the shore, she was 
dreaming joyously of the treat that it would be 
to stand on deck, with the green sea lapping all 
around her, to see the well-ordered floating palace 


The Fostering of Aslaug 75 

that the seamen had described to Grima, and, 
above all, to be beside the great lord Ragnar, 
whom they praised so heartily. At the thought 
of meeting him, however, she paused in distress. 
What would he, a king’s son, think of her ragged 
old frock, through which one of her white arms 
was actually peeping at the shoulder ? She kept 
herself so fresh and pretty that her bare feet and 
head made her look but the sweeter, yet do what 
she might, her frock was hopelessly dingy, and 
she flushed rosy red with vexation when the 
breeze shook out its tattered folds. Then she 
laughed happily at a new thought. She un- 
twisted her hair from its long plait, and down it 
fell in great waves to the very edge of her skirts, 
covering her ugly dress like a mantle of gold. 

So it was that the seamen saw the girlish 
figure run down to the beach, wrapped in a cloud 
that was ruddy gold against the rays of the set- 
ting sun. Ragnar, their lord, was impatiently 
awaiting her coming, yet when his men had 
rowed her out in their light boat from the shore, 
his welcoming words were few, and, as he felt, 
all too poor for the ears of a guest so wondrously 
fair. For to see her was to worship her beauty. 
All through the ship he led her courteously ; and 
she, overjoyed at all that had come to her that 


76 Stories From William- Morris 

day, thought not of speaking until she was alone 
with him beneath the golden canopy at the 
stern ; then, to his great joy and surprise, she 
opened her lips, and breathed to him the first 
words she had spoken to any man since Heimir 
left her : “ Oh, if I but knew that you, my lord, 

were as happy as I ! ” And in a little while she 
knew that he was even so, for love took sole 
possession of his heart, and, bending down, he 
told her that this was the sweetest hour that he 
had ever spent. The sun had not gone down 
that night before the Danish prince had prayed 
the maid to be his wife and sail away with him in 
his great ship ; but Aslaug shook her head. 

“ No, no,” said she ; “ it is not that I care little 
for you, but you are born to be a king, and I 
have been brought up as a foundling by poor 
peasant-folk who could teach me little. You 
love me to-day ; but what if you found I were no 
fit helpmate, and tired of me after I had become 
your wife? You say I would aid you to live a 
noble life like your father’s ? Then listen : Go, 
do the deeds that your men have said you are on 
the road to essay. If you can do them the bet- 
ter for love of me, I shall be proud indeed, and if 
you come back from Micklegarth still minded to 
make me your bride, you will find me here 


The Fostering of Aslaug 77 

thinking of you every day, Ragnar, and praying 
for your happiness.” 

To these words the prince answered firmly : 
“ My heart is yours from to-day to the end of 
my life. I will go on to Micklegarth, as I vowed 
at Yule-tide, and see if I can win fame. And if 
I fall by the sword, and you in after years become 
the dear wife of another — it may well be a great 
king — you must sometimes say to yourself : 
* Ragnar the Dane loved me to his death ; his 
heart was mine even to the end.’ ” 

But Aslaug’s bright eyes were fast filling with 
tears at this gloomy talk. She broke in hastily : 
** You must not say things like that when we are 
sad enough as it is, saying farewell. Whatever 
happens I shall go on loving you, and be glad 
when I think of the happy time I have spent 
with you this day. And oh, how sweet it 
will be to see you if you sail into our bay once 
again ! 

I want you to remember,” she went on very 
seriously, that I am only a poor goatherd girl 
who lives in cowardly fear of the cross old woman 
for whom she works. You must not dream that 
I am anything better, and if your high station 
requires you to marry a lady of noble birth, then 
you must give up thinking of me.” 


yS Stories From William Morris 

“ Yes/’ said Ragnar, with a smile ; “ of course, 
my second wife must be as noble as was Thora, 
the wife whom I have lost ; and you, of all 
women, have alone seemed to me her equal. 
Look, Aslaug,” and he stooped over a chest, and 
lifted out an exquisite garment, “ this is the man- 
ner of dress that should be yours, my queen ; I 
pray you to take it now and wear it in token of 
my love.” These last words he said somewhat 
haltingly, from fear that she might be hurt at his 
noticing the meanness of her attire. 

Aslaug, however, put him at his ease when she 
laughingly refused. “ Why, it is too fine for any 
but a goddess to wear ! As for my taking it, 
that would never do. If I should see you no 
more, the gift would remind me of you too sadly ; 
and even if, as I trust, some happy day will bring 
you back to me, I could not meanwhile wear this 
rich clothing in a smoky cottage or out on the 
hill herding my goats, could I ? The first person 
to wear it would be Grima, the old peasant 
woman who keeps me. Nay, \ook not so angry,” 
she cried as she saw him flush hotly at Grima’s 
name, and lay his hand on his sword, as though 
he would strike down the person who dared 
touch Aslaug. “ We must not vex ourselves 
over her ill-temper. Why, my daily troubles 


The Fostering of Aslaug 79 

will seem easy to bear now that I can dream of 
your returning to me.” 

Though loth to part from her, Ragnar had at 
last to watch Aslaug leave his ship and cross the 
sands to the cottage over the hillside. A long, 
long time he stood wrapped in thought of her 
after her slight figure had been lost to his yearn- 
ing eyes in the soft spring twilight. 

Then the tide came flowing in, and, rousing 
himself from his reveries, the Danish prince gave 
orders to put out to sea ; the banks of oars bent 
to their work, and next morning, when Aslaug 
scanned the water, the ship was far out of sight, 
bearing fast toward the land where Ragnar was 
to win great glory. 

The love of Ragnar sweetened Aslaug’s life 
for the months to come. She had found a new 
joy in the world, and though she sometimes 
trembled to think that her lover might never re- 
turn, she tried hard to dwell only on her happier 
thoughts — the memory of that afternoon spent 
in the ship and the hope of seeing him sail back 
for her some glad day. 

And that day dawned at last. 

One bright May morning, twelve months after 
Ragnar’s visit to the bay, she was busy making 


8o Stories From William Morris 


ready the early meal in the cottage, old Grima, 
sour and peevish as ever, muttering discontentedly 
beside her, when the door opened and Grima’s 
husband came hurrying in. 

“ There they are back again ! ” he exclaimed. 
“ They have come to work us ill, I’ll be bound. 
I have often thought to myself that it was folly 
to let our dumb witch, the Crow, make friends 
with them, Grima. The girl will yet cause us to 
pay for the slaughter of the minstrel fifteen years 
ago. Do you think these seamen can have 
scented that murder ? ” 

“ Oh, hold your tongue ! ” cried his wife angrily. 
“ Do you mean that the strangers who baked their 
bread in this house last year are on their way to 
us again ? That’s nothing to be afraid of, old 
white-liver ; I only hope they pay us as hand- 
somely this time as last. Why should you begin 
chattering of such ill things as misfortune, and 
the Crow, and the fool whom we dispatched once 
upon a time? The sailors have nothing to do 
with our little concerns.” 

Her talk was interrupted by a voice from the 
threshold : “ Where is the lovely maiden whom 

we have come over seas to find and who once 
lived here ? Dwells she still in this cottage ? ” 

Aslaug with a beating heart had listened to the 


The Fostering of Aslaug 8l 

goodman’s news of strangers on the road. She 
had been bending over the fire as she stirred a 
handful of meal into the pot, and even at the 
seaman’s hearty shout she did not turn round nor 
raise her head. 

Grima’s downtrodden husband saw a chance 
of putting himself forward, and made answer in 
whining tones. 

“ The girl is still living on my bounty ; poor 
as I am, I have fed, clothed, and sheltered her 
these fifteen years. Heaven knows what rich 
rewards we deserve for all the kindness we have 
shown the dumb creature ! ” 

The men did not trouble to point out that 
Grima had told them the girl was her own child 
and that the goodman had now given away the 
secret. 

** Waste not our time with your lying words,” 
answered a sailor shortly. “ If the chosen wife 
of our prince wishes you to swing upon the 
gallows for your treatment of her, we will be 
happy to do her bidding. Ah, there she is I 
All hail to you, lady ! ” 

Aslaug was carrying the bowl of porridge from 
the fire to the rough table, when the sailor, catch- 
ing sight of her, ran forward to do the humble 
task in her place. But she, smiling her thanks 


82 Stories From William Morris 


to him, passed on, and herself set the dish on the 
table ; then, turning to the group, she opened 
her lips, and, to the amazement and utter con- 
fusion of the peasant couple, spoke in the prettiest 
of voices, clear and sweet : 

“ Methinks you must have come with tidings 
from the good lord Ragnar who saw me on his 
ship last springtide.” 

“ That is so, my lady,” returned the chief of 
the party. “ Our prince has fulfilled his vow, 
and done great deeds of valor in Micklegarth. 
Now he is back in your bay, eager to claim the 
bride of whom he has told all his men, and yet, 
at times, torturing himself with fears lest you may 
have ceased to care for him, have found a king 
perchance to marry, or may even lie cold and 
dead in the grave. So much did he fear bad 
news at this cottage that he would not come him- 
self to seek you. He charged us, if we found 
you, to beg you to join him on his ship this very 
morning. Each hour he finds hard to bear 
while he is longing so impatiently to see you at 
his side.” 

“ I shall go straightway,” she answered, “ for I 
am fain to be with him whom I love with my 
whole heart. But as I leave this cottage never 
to return, I would give this needy couple some- 


The Fostering of Aslaug 83 

thing to make their lives the easier. Have you 
aught of my lord’s with you? Methinks he 
would gladly give me what I wish.” 

“ My lady, we have dainty gifts sent you from 
our prince, if so be that you would deck yourself 
to come aboard, and all the gold and gems we 
carry with us are at your disposal alone.” 

“ Then I shall make use of my kind lord’s 
presents,” said Aslaug. “ Not that I will wear 
these fair robes to-day, for I would rather the 
prince saw me once more as the humble peasant 
girl that I am, and whom he loved last spring- 
tide in spite of her poverty and rags. But his 
other gifts I would take from your hands and 
leave them to those who have, at least, sheltered 
me these fifteen years. 

“ See, Grima, the jewels shall be yours, and 
this gold is for your husband. If words could 
bring you happiness, I would wish that good 
might still befall you, but methinks wishes are 
vain when your evil moods must surely bring 
you greater misery year by year. At any rate, 
think not that I harbor angry thoughts against 
you. Fare ye well.” 

Could anything more unlooked for have hap- 
pened in that wretched cottage ? “ The Crow,” 

whom man and wife had treated with such con- 


84 Stories From William Morris 

tempt, was called to be the wife of a great prince, 
and she who had been dumb before them all those 
years, had bidden them farewell in gentle tones 
and left them a store of gold and jewels ! 

There was great rejoicing in the hovel over 
the prize left by the kind-hearted maiden, but 
how different from that greedy joy was Aslaug’s 
gladness when she joined Ragnar in his splendid 
gold-prowed ship ! 

And that his bride was the high-born daughter 
of Brynhild and great Sigurd became known to 
the Danish prince, when next morning Aslaug 
told him of this vision that had come to her as 
she slept : 

“ The stars were glittering brightly above our 
snow- laden earth as I rose high on the night 
wind to a realm of fire, and through the flame, 
passed to a fair palace built all of gold. At my 
approach, the palace hall rang with the blare of 
trumpets, and the noble king upon the throne 
turned to his queen to ask the reason of the out- 
burst. 

** * ’Tis the noise of Ragnar’s fame,’ she an- 
swered him. 

< And that maiden figure that now glides 
through our halls ? ’ 


The Fostering of Aslaug 85 

“ ‘ ’Tis Asiaug, our child, whom I left on earth 
when I came to join thee, my Sigurd — she who 
is now the bride of great Ragnar.’ 

“ And methought that the noble pair smiled on 
me kindly as I left their fire -girt palace in the 
heavens.” 

“I, too, had a strange dream,” said Ragnar in 
his turn. 

“ At gray dawn I was wandering upon a waste 
strewn with the armor of dead men and the 
bleached bones of those who had once fought 
there. A great light shone afar, and I, drawing 
near to it, sought ever to win my way through a 
rampart of flames, but could not. Then where I, 
in my frailty, could not walk, two figures passed 
through the fiercest of the fire unscathed. Great 
Sigurd and Brynhild came from out that bright- 
ness, and, hailing me, set in my hand a fair, 
white lily. This flower I cherished, placing it in 
the soil, and tending it carefully, and lo ! the 
gray, sunless dawn turned to glorious day, the 
waste place became a garden of sweetest blos- 
soms — and all because you, my love, the white 
lily from Brynhild's bosom, had been sent to 
change my life of cheerless warfare into days of 
love, happiness, and peace.” 


Bellerophon at Argos 


P RCETUS, King of Argos, was resting with 
his huntsmen alter a morning’s chase in 
the forest, when a travel-stained rider 
broke into the glade where the royal party were 
seated at their midday meal. The man had evi- 
dently ridden a long distance, and that, too, in 
great haste, for his handsome dress was torn and 
disheveled, the broken sheath at his side had lost 
its sword, and as for his black war-horse, it was 
quivering with the strain of those weary miles, 
its flanks were wet with sweat, its breast flecked 
with foam. Despair was written in the young 
horseman’s haggard features, which were yet of 
so noble a cast that the Argive king saw at a 
glance that this was no common fugitive, but a 
youth of gentle birth fleeing from some over- 
whelming trouble. 

The huntsmen, silencing the dogs, who were 
growling suspiciously at the newcomer, called 
upon him to halt, and give a reason for his flight 
through the royal forest. The knight at once 
86 


Bellerophon at Argos 87 

dismounted, and made answer that, if he had still 
life enough within him to tell his tale, he was 
willing to do so in their master’s hearing. Ac- 
cordingly he was led before Proetus, who see- 
ing his sad plight and utter exhaustion, ex- 
claimed : “ Rest and take meat with us, stranger. 
You are over- weary to begin your tale at this 
moment, and when we hear it later, methinks we 
shall not be vexed that we have ventured to 
show you hospitality. I am not one to suspect 
a man only because he looks woe-begone.” 
Then the kind-hearted Argive forced him to sit 
down and eat, watching with pleasure whilst 
he satisfied his two days’ hunger, and wondering 
what would prove to be the history of his prepos- 
sessing guest. 

“ I have fled for my life,” said the stranger, at 
last breaking silence, “ and yet I should not be 
sorry if some one took it from me now. Listen 
to this. 

“ Till yesterday I lived a happy life at Cor- 
inth, where my father is king. I had a brother, 
Beller, who was very dear to me. We played 
together when we were boys, and as we grew 
older we planned how we would go out together 
and seek to do great deeds in the world. Alas ! 
Beller’s name will be unknown to fame, and mine 


88 Stories From William Morris 


will only be remembered for the hideous deed my 
hands wrought yesterday. 

For three nights I was visited by a very ter- 
rible dream. It seemed to me that a tall gray 
figure roused me from sleep, and led me across 
the room to the bed where my brother lay sleep- 
ing. There this figure of Fate thrust into my 
hand a dart, on whose shaft were bands of 
silver, and whose tuft of feathers was green and 
scarlet. I struggled to stay my hand, but 
could not; then I madly drove the dart into 
Beller’s side ! 

While I slept, the horror of that dream was 
forgotten in another strange vision. Methought 
I wandered on a hillside, looking down upon a 
great white-walled city built hard by the sea- 
shore. On the sands a multitude was holding 
funeral games in honor of their dead king, 
whose name indeed I heard for the first time, 
but whose face was no other than my own ! 

“ Not once, but for three nights, these dreams 
came to me, until I could bear the burden of 
them no longer. To tell them to my brother was 
impossible, for it would look to him as though 
the visions were the outcome of schemes that I 
was harboring in my heart against him, and I 
could not have him doubt my love. But I 


Bellerophon at Argos 89 

thought of another man to whom I could safely 
confide the trouble. He was an old priest, who 
lived some distance out of Corinth, and who had 
been a dear friend from the time when he taught 
us in our childhood. I rose from my third night 
of these dreams, and made ready to ride to his 
abode at daybreak. As I passed through the 
porch of the palace I saw lying beside a pillar the 
very dart which I had held in my dream ! To 
show to the priest how real my terrors had been, 
I picked up the hateful thing, and carried it in 
my belt. 

The ride was in vain, for when I reached the 
temple courts I found that the priest had walked 
overnight into our city. He had been in great 
sorrow about some matter, his people declared, 
though what weighed so heavily upon him they 
could not say. For my part, I was the more 
troubled at hearing this, since it seemed to me that 
he must have gone to the palace to warn us of the 
very danger which overshadowed my dreams. 

“ I rode back with heavy heart, but had only 
gone about half way through the woods, when I 
was roused from my musings by the sound of 
voices at some distance. I reined up my horse, 
and listened. The far-away sound changed to 
one close at hand. The thicket in front of me 


go Stories From William Morris 

rustled beneath some footfall, and as I thought 
of the many kinds of wild beasts that haunt our 
woods, the bushes parted, and a great gray form 
stalked forward. I had but a moment to aim at 
what seemed to me a monster wolf. Rising in 
the stirrups I flung the silver-clasped dart straight 
at its breast. The dart struck deep, but, ah ! as 
I looked again, I saw that it was not a wolf that 
I had killed ; it was Beller, my brother ! 

“ The voices sounded close by my ear before 1 
had recovered myself. From out the thicket ran 
the priest of whom I had gone in search, and with 
him a body of armed men. They saw my brother 
dead at my feet, and straightway they made 
ready to seize me, his murderer, but I made my 
escape from their swords, I scarcely know why — 
perchance because at the time I could not guess 
that life would become so hard to bear. To-day 
I would willingly bend my head before the swords- 
men from whom yesterday I fled. One of them 
I met face to face, and fought until he was thrown 
from his horse and my blade shivered ; the others, 
methinks, were not loth to see me ride away un- 
injured, for the death of one prince that morning 
was great enough calamity for the kingdom.” 

Proetus was extremely sorry for his guest when 
he heard of his misfortune. He did what he 


Bellerophon at Argos 91 

could to cheer him, however, promising that the 
priests of Argos should at once purify him from 
the blood that he had unintentionally shed. Then 
he reminded him that, since his first dream had, 
unhappily, been fulfilled, the second might also 
come to pass, and he might become king of a 
fair, new country. Meanwhile he begged him 
to make the palace of Argos his home. 

The fact was that Proetus was much taken with 
his guest, and was determined to make a friend 
of him. Although the poor young prince of 
Corinth was grieving too deeply to attend to what 
went on around him. King Proetus persisted in 
talking to him, and pointed out everything of in- 
terest on their ride to the palace. 

It was too late that evening to do more than 
attend the banquet held in honor of the day’s 
hunt, but next morning the King took his guest 
to the chief temple in the city, and there the 
priests slew great white bulls and heaped incense 
upon the altar fire ; while the stranger, barefoot, 
and olive branch in hand, prayed fervently for 
forgiveness from heaven. At length the priests 
declared the rites fulfilled, and the suppliant free 
from the guilt of having shed his brother’s blood. 

“ Depart from our temple, Prince, blameless, 
and reconciled to the gods above, but let your 


92 Stories From William Morris 

name be changed, to mark your confession of 
the unhappy deed you wrought. You shall 
henceforth be known as the slayer of Beller — 
Bellerophony 

The priests' pardon comforted the prince not a 
little, but his face remained grave and sad, in spite 
of the entertainment which Proetus now thrust 
upon him. 

Together they made a round of the royal 
stables, the armories, the treasure-house, and 
the palace halls with their rare tapestries and 
carvings of many well-known stories. Through- 
out their walk, however, Bellerophon showed so 
little interest that his host almost despaired of 
rousing him to share in the every-day pursuits 
that contented the nobles of Argos. When they 
seemed to have exhausted the wonders of the 
palace Proetus stopped at a gate heavily plated 
with silver, and turning with a laugh toward his 
silent companion, he said : I have done what 

I could to cure your sad mood, Bellerophon, but 
since I possess not the art to treat it rightly, I 
must take you to another, who may handle your 
trouble more delicately ! " 

He opened the door, and the sound of sweet 
girlish voices told that they were coming to the 
women’s quarters of the palace. They crossed 


Belle rophon at Argos 93 

another threshold and entered the Queen’s hall. 
It was a beautiful place, marble-floored, and cool 
with the spray that arose from a fountain playing 
in the centre of the hall. The windows looked 
across a sunny bay, where fishing boats and a 
few black-prowed foreign ships lay at anchor, and 
through the open lattices a butterfly would now 
and again flit in, to dance around the great 
bowlfuls of rose-laurels that the slave girls had 
set beside the Queen’s throne. The maidens 
were busy at their spindles, an old dame was 
standing by the loom, and a young girl hastened 
across the hall to lay aside the web that had just 
been finished. The mistress of all these busy 
womenfolk was sitting idle upon her throne. 
Bellerophon noted at a glance how surpassingly 
handsome she was, but as her eyes fell upon one 
of her maids, who had done some small thing 
amiss, he saw upon her face an ugly look of pas- 
sion that could come only from a cruel and ex- 
acting temper. 

The King introduced his guest, and talked 
cheerfully of the friendship which he wished that 
they three might cherish ; and while she listened 
with some scorn to her husband’s well-meant 
speeches. Queen Sthenobcea looked again and 
again at the quiet prince, who paid her so little 


94 Stories From William Morris 

courtly homage, and who, for that reason, aroused 
her interest the more. 

Whatever it may have been that attracted her, 
Bellerophon had not left the hall before she had 
fallen deeply in love with him. He, on the 
other hand, could not admire her as he did the 
good-hearted King ; but as time wore on he was 
touched by her anxiety to make his life at Argos 
a happy one, and he endeavored to respond to 
the efforts of the royal pair to interest him. 

The hapless fugitive had now found a new 
life. To please the King of Argos he undertook 
one mission after another; all that he took in 
hand he carried through successfully, while in the 
performance of his duties he won many a friend 
by his kindliness and courtesy. Prcetus relied 
upon him, alike in peace and in war, and would 
often employ him on difficult matters of state in 
outlying parts of the kingdom, where, truth to 
tell, Bellerophon was happier than at court, be- 
cause at the palace the Queen ever beset him 
with endless attentions which he was glad to es- 
cape. The more plainly did he show that he 
could not care for her as she wished, the more 
persistently did she try to win his love by foolish 
little artifices that could only lower her in his es- 
teem. At length a day came when, the Prince 



ONCE MORE SHE TRIED TO WIN HIS LOVE, 
('From a drawing by G, D. Plammond.) 





9i 


Bellerophon at Argos 

of Corinth being alone with her, she lost control 
of her temper, and stormed at him because he 
was cold, and indifferent to her advances. When 
he left her presence that afternoon, he was thank- 
ful to remember that on the morrow he had to 
quit Argos upon a warlike mission that would 
keep him in the field for many months, and that 
while the war lasted, he would be free from 
further annoyance from Sthenoboea. 

It was not long, however, before his good 
generalship gained the victory, and he had noth- 
ing to do but lead back his troops to the city. A 
triumphal procession was held upon his return to 
the city of Argos, for the townsfolk, having 
heard of his victories, flocked out in a great body 
to welcome their dearly loved Bellerophon when 
he set foot .once more upon the quay. The 
King too was at the harbor, and in his joy he 
flung his arms about the hero’s neck, who, he 
cried, was dear as a son to him. As they drew 
near the palace, Bellerophon, with some hesitation^ 
asked how the Queen fared. Proetus gave him an 
honest reply. ** Why, she fares well, and has 
few troubles to bear, since she never thinks of 
sharing other people’s. I hope that your life 
and mine may long be as unclouded as hers.” 

Alas for the King's hopes ! Bellerophon had 


g6 Stories From William Morris 

returned to Argos not to enjoy peace and 
good fortune, but to suffer most unjustly from 
the fierce anger which the Queen nursed against 
him. Once more she tried to win his love, but 
when he showed that he would only treat her 
courteously, as the wife of his friend and the 
queen of the country, then her disappointment 
was so bitter that she resolved to wreak a cruel 
vengeance upon him. 

She came one evening to the King with a 
grievous charge against Bellerophon, saying that 
he was no true friend, but a wicked villain, who 
that day had tried to win her from her husband’s 
side, and who had shown himself capable of base 
and treacherous conduct. Now, there was not 
one word of truth in all that the Queen said, but 
to Proetus, who had no idea that his wife bore a 
grudge against the prince, her excitement and 
horror as she told her tale appeared to be certain 
proof of Bellerophon’s guilt. 

The poor King was in despair when Sthenoboea 
left him to think over the charge which she had 
brought against his dearest friend. Had Proetus 
been quick-witted, or had he been a suspicious 
man, he might have chosen to look into the mat- 
ter more closely before taking any steps, and 
though for years past he had known that his wife 


Bellerophon at Argos 97 

was untruthful, yet it did not even now occur to 
him that she could be capable of making a false 
accusation. He groaned as he thought how he 
must punish Bellerophon, and still more as he 
pictured the loneliness of his own life without 
him whom he had loved so devotedly. Two 
things were certain — that he could not bear to 
look again upon Bellerophon, and that he could 
not give the order to have him slain in the land 
of Argos, whither he had come as an outcast, and 
where by his valor he had won the rank and 
honor of a prince. But where should he be sent 
to suffer his due punishment ? Surely to Lycia, 
the land in which Queen Sthenoboea had been 
born and bred, and over which her father, 
Jobates, still held rule. It was meet, said Proetus 
to himself, that in that country Bellerophon 
should be put to death for the crime of which 
SthenobcEa had declared him guilty. He re- 
membered that at the quay lay a ship ready to 
set sail for Lycia as soon as its Phrygian master 
received his last orders from the palace. Had 
not he, Proetus, visited the boat that very day, 
and had not he told the Phrygian that, with his 
final instructions, he would send the payment due 
to the sailors, and a gold ring in token that the 
bearer came by the King’s orders ? That, then, 


98 Stories From William Morris 

was the ship in which to despatch Bellerophon 
upon his fatal journey. By the light of two 
flickering tapers the King wrote these hasty 
words upon a scroll : 

“ To Prince Bellerophon, whom I have often 
called my son. 

“ Needs must you embark for Lycia at day- 
break. This my ring and the two bags of gold 
I pray you bear to the Phrygian who awaits my 
leave to set sail from our harbor. In his ship, 
you will be borne to Lycia, where you must seek 
Jobates the king, and give him this casket. Re- 
mind him that he and I alone possess keys to 
open it. Within, he will find a letter of much 
importance. 

“ And now, Bellerophon, farewell. Come not 
to see me ere you set sail. It may be that we 
shall never meet again ; it may be that your days 
will be short upon earth ; but whatever befall, I 
know that you will not rail foolishly at Fate, nor 
think with bitterness upon one who in the past 
loved and cared for you as I have done. Fare- 
well.” 

Another letter he wrote, which he locked 
within the casket that he had spoken of, and 
then, having summoned his chamberlain, he gave 
him the letter to Bellerophon, the casket, the 


Bellerophon at Argos 


99 


royal ring, and two bags of gold, telling him 
that all these he must deliver into the prince’s 
hand without an instant’s delay. And so the 
chamberlain hastened to the bedchamber of 
Bellerophon, and, finding him awake, begged him 
to read the king’s message. Three times the 
prince read the note before he fully realized that 
Proetus had addressed him in strange and un- 
friendly terms. As he had no suspicion of the 
false charge which the Queen had made against 
him, he was quite at a loss to understand this 
sudden change of feeling on the King’s part, and 
at first his resentment was so strong that he was 
inclined to go and reproach Proetus for his fickle- 
ness. It was not long, however, before his anger 
died down, and he reasoned with himself that 
possibly the King had been moved to send him 
this curt message in order that, by an unexpected 
departure, he might escape some hidden danger 
at Argos. If, on the other hand, the letter were 
a deliberate expression of displeasure, he could 
but trust that some day he might have an oppor- 
tunity to prove himself innocent of any grave 
oifense. In the meantime he hastened to fulfil 
the orders given him. 

He rode down to the quay, handed the 
Phrygian the bags of gold and the King’s ring, 


LOfC. 


loo Stories From William Morris 


and took his place upon the ship which was to 
bear him to Lycia. The offering of red wine was 
poured upon the salt waters, the ship, freed from 
her moorings, shot through the harbor to the 
open sea, and ere long Bellerophon had left be- 
hind him a town where only one man had turned 
against him ; but, losing the friendship of Proetus, 
he had lost his second home, and was near to 
losing his very life also. 

We can guess that the King of Argos was none 
the happier for having banished his good friend 
so hastily. The blank that he had thus made in 
his life could never be filled, for in all the length 
and breadth of Greece there was no such loving 
and trusty a prince as Bellerophon. But the 
King’s grief was as nothing compared with the 
Queen’s remorse. He had banished his friend 
because he believed him guilty of a great crime ; 
she, on the other hand, had brought about the 
punishment of the man whom she had admired 
above all others, and the dishonor which she had 
thrown upon his name she knew to be quite un- 
deserved. She had accused him falsely, had 
done him the greatest wrong she could devise, 
and, having done so, she suffered such misery 
from her evil conscience that life became unbear- 
able to her. 


Bellerophon at Argos loi 

Only a few days after Bellerophon had sailed 
from Argos, she disappeared from the royal 
palace. Her attendants searched in vain for their 
mistress through the gardens and green walks 
where she had often before paced in moody 
silence. This time she had wandered farther. 
On the branches of sweetbriar that trailed across 
the paths of the pleasance, they found a few 
golden threads and fragments of a fine silk robe, 
that showed the Queen had brushed past these 
bushes in haste to escape from her own grounds, 
but where her footsteps led beyond that point 
they could not discover. Day after day the King 
sent out messengers, who scoured the country 
for news of her. Not a single person came for- 
ward to explain the mystery of her disappearance, 
and as time went on, the Argives came to see 
that she was gone forever. They did not pre- 
tend to mourn her loss, nor was the King incon- 
solable when it was borne in upon him that his 
cold-hearted consort had deserted him, and that, 
whether alive or dead, she would never be seen 
again in his land. 

The manner of the Queen’s end was known 
only to two people. It was an old fisherman 
who came one morning to his wife with this 
story : 


102 Stories From William Morris 

“ At dead of night I was on my way along the 
shore, carrying our last haul of fish to early 
market at Argos. Well, I had gone but half 
way through the beech wood that crowns the 
highest of our cliffs when I caught sight of a 
white figure standing at the edge of the wood, 
looking down upon the sea. It was a woman’s 
form — so much I could make out even in the 
darkness — but I could not have told who she was, 
if she had not been wailing of her plight and talk- 
ing wildly to herself. Wife, it was Queen Stheno- 
boea ! I heard her cry that she, Sthenoboea, was 
the most wretched mortal upon earth, and that 
the thought of the wrong she had done was driv- 
ing her crazy. She had torn off her jeweled 
girdle, and fastened it upon a tree, as though she 
would hang herself by it, but ere I could come 
near and try to calm her she had chosen another 
death. With a last wild cry she leaped from the 
cliffs down into the sea that was raging far below. 
Ah ! a dreadful end it was that she put to her 
life. 

** Tell me, goodwife, what should I do about 
the matter? See, I have brought home her 
girdle, which was hanging upon the bough. 
Shall I take it to the king, and tell him all that 
I saw, or shall we say naught, but pick the jewels 


Bellerophon at Argos 103 

out of the belt, and sell them to make ourselves 
the richer ? ” 

“ Nay, nay,” cried his wife; “ do neither. We 
should do ill to try and make money out of the 
girdle that the hapless Queen wore ; believe me, 
that would only bring us into trouble. And what 
good, again, could come from telling the King 
how you saw his queen perish ? He would, like 
enough, punish you for not having run forward 
in time to save her. Take your boat, goodman, 
and row out to the nets in our bay ; cut from 
them the heaviest weight you can find, and bind 
to it the telltale girdle. Then row out to deeper 
water, and let it drop to the bottom of the sea. 
You and I will be wise enough not to say one 
word about what we know of the Queen’s death. 
Fewest words are safest, goodman.” 

The fisherman followed his shrewd wife’s ad- 
vice. The girdle was thrown into the sea, and 
no one save this couple ever knew how Stheno- 
boea, who years ago had left Lycia, a bride of 
fairest promise, came in her husband’s kingdom 
to a wretched and self-sought end. 

But of the man whom she wronged we are to 
hear something more. 


Bellerophon in Lycia 

W HEN Bellerophon set foot in Lycia, 
he was prepared to face further 
troubles with a proud scorn of fate and 
a stout determination that, let friends fail him who 
might, he would play his part manfully to the end. 
His first duty was to deliver the casket of Proetus 
into the hands of Jobates, King of Lycia, and this 
he was not long in accomplishing, for ready ad- 
mission to the palace was granted to any seafarer 
who came with news of other countries. In 
company with his fellow voyagers, who had often 
visited the court, Bellerophon made his way to 
the King’s presence. The sharp eyes of Jobates 
recognized many a familiar face amongst the 
Phrygians, and he nodded a friendly welcome, 
first to one and then to another of their number. 
No sooner had he noticed the stranger in their 
midst than he inquired if he were not that Prince 
of Corinth who of late had been described as the 
right hand of Proetus. It was indeed easy to see 
that he who wore the magnificent jeweled sword 
was of different rank from the traders amongst 
104 


Bellerophon in Lycia 105 

whom he stood ; and further, that this was indeed 
the Prince Bellerophon was quite evident to the 
King, who had listened to many accounts of the 
person and valor of the renowned Corinthian. 

Bellerophon made modest answer to Jobates, 
and told him that what he had done at Argos 
was no more than the service due to Proetus for 
sheltering a fugitive in his palace. Then he 
handed the casket to the Lycian King, and, hav- 
ing delivered his message, craved permission to 
depart, as he was fain to go in search of adven- 
ture in new lands. “ Moreover, O King,” he 
added, “ methinks I have offended my friend, 
Prcetus of Argos — though how that should be, I 
know not — and if I am, in truth, out of favor with 
him, then it would be unfair to linger in your 
kingdom, lest I cause ill-feeling between you and 
him.” 

But Jobates would not hear of Bellerophon 
leaving him there and then. He said that he 
would find it hard to believe any ill of the frank- 
spoken Prince, and he begged him to be his 
guest until at least he heard some reason why 
they could not continue to be friends ; so just as 
Proetus had once pressed his hospitality upon 
the Corinthian, Jobates, in his turn, now insisted 
upon entertaining him. Feasting and games 


io6 Stories From William Morris 


were proclaimed in honor of tlie guest, and nine 
days passed merrily before Jobates remembered 
to unlock the casket sent by Proetus. The con- 
tents he showed to no one, but Bellerophon 
could not fail to see that in the casket had been 
sent some warning or charge against the bearer, 
for no sooner had the King opened it than he 
summoned him to his presence, and in an anx- 
ious and constrained voice, cautioned him to quit 
Lycia for a safer country. Having given him 
this piece of advice most guardedly, the King 
hurried out of the chamber, clearly to avoid 
being questioned, while Bellerophon remained 
behind, pondering over the hard buffetings of 
fortune. A light footstep caused him to look up 
to see who was breaking in upon his solitude; 
and at the sight of her who was coming tow'ard 
him, he started in bewilderment, thinking that it 
was no other than Sthenoboea, Queen of Argos. 
He saw his mistake when he met the glance of a 
pair of bright eyes that were as soft as Stheno- 
boea’s had been hard. The younger daughter of 
Jobates, she who had stolen up to speak to the 
Prince, had the same lovely form and features as 
her sister, but otherwise there was all the differ- 
ence in the world between the two. The elder 
had none of the kindness and sweetness that 


Bellerophon in Lycia 107 

made Philonoe so dearly loved by her people, 
and the unscrupulous acts of which Sthenoboea 
had often been guilty, would have been impos- 
sible to the younger sister, who was as truthful 
and honorable as Bellerophon himself. 

She looked timidly toward the Corinthian 
Prince before she spoke. Then, with an effort 
to overcome her shyness, she told him that he 
was well known to her by sight, because she had- 
seen him taking part in the games of the last few 
days, and that she had come now to bid him flee 
for his life from Lycia. Surprised that she was 
aware of the danger which overshadowed him in 
Jobates’ country, Bellerophon asked what had 
suggested to her that his life was no longer safe. 

“ It was a dream,” she answered. “ I dreamed 
that I was walking through our land of Lycia, 
where the ground was covered with poisonous 
snakes that writhed about my feet. To me they 
were harmless, because they seemed to be of my 
own kin ; but when I saw you approach, my 
heart sank, for I knew that upon you they would 
work certain death. I strove in vain to warn 
you. Careless, or perchance unconscious, of the 
danger, you drew nearer, and then, just as we 
met, a serpent raised his head, and fastened his 
poisonous fangs upon you. The venom did its 


io8 Stories From William Morris 

work; you fell dead, methought, and through 
my after dreams I heard the echo : ‘ BelleropJion 
is dead, Bellerophon is dead! ” 

Almost before the last words were breathed 
from her lips, Philonoe turned and slipped out of 
the chamber, leaving behind her a man who was 
thinking, not of the peril she had warned him 
against, but of the tender-hearted Princess her- 
self. To set out from Lycia in search of greater 
safety, appeared suddenly to him an impossi- 
bility, since it meant deserting the country where 
this low-voiced, soft-eyed maiden had her home ; 
but as he must at least quit the palace of the 
estranged Jobates, he determined to ask if he 
could not serve him on the field of battle or on 
embassy to some neighboring court. Acting 
upon this resolution, he went to speak to Jobates 
in his hall of audience, though little did he think 
as he entered, that’ there would just then await 
him the very opportunity which he sought. 

Crowding around the doors and standing de- 
jectedly before the King’s throne, was a band of 
woe-begone soldiers. Some had lost their weap- 
ons ; some were in such tattered, blood-stained 
array as showed they had been fighting for dear 
life ; while others, faint with weariness, were lean- 
ing against the pillars to give their feeble limbs 


Bellerophon in Lycia 109 

what rest they could. Their captain quailed be- 
neath the searching questions of J obates, who sat 
with flushed, angry face, listening to the story of 
a disgraceful defeat. Now the King was at heart 
much surprised to see Bellerophon appear in his 
hall after the solemn warning he had received, 
but, masking his feelings, he exclaimed : “ Listen, 
I pray you, to this pretty story ! I sent these 
fine warriors of mine across the hills to make an 
end of the feeble Solymi, a rude people who are 
unskilled in arms, and who have not even the 
grace to ask aid of the gods. A more contempt- 
ible foe you would hardly find, and lo ! they have 
utterly crushed my men. What will you, Beller- 
ophon? You have spoken aforetime of going 
in quest of great deeds of arms. Will you lead 
my troops straightway against the Solymi ? ” 

It was quite clear to Bellerophon that the 
King wished to thrust him into the jaws of death, 
but his desire to remain bound to the Lycian court 
overruled all other considerations, and he imme- 
diately accepted the proposal. “ But I must ask 
your prayers for my success,” he added, looking 
hard at Jobates, “for I doubt me that in this 
matter there are greater dangers in store than 
any I have yet encountered.” 

The King was visibly ill at ease, though he 


iio Stories From William Morris 


struggled to appear unconscious of the stern 
glance and words of Bellerophon. He answered, 
as best he might, that he would certainly pray 
the gods to give Lycia the victory, and that, 
whatever befell, he thanked Bellerophon heartily 
for his readiness to brave the enemy. 

Having agreed to set, out from the city in two 
days’ time, Bellerophon busied himself reviewing 
his troops and endeavoring to inspire them 
with something of his own courage. By night- 
fall of the second day his preparations were at 
last completed, and he was resting alone in a 
quiet porch when he saw a white-robed maid 
crossing the grass toward where he stood. His 
heart beat faster while he wondered if perchance 
the slender figure might be Philonoe, of whom 
he was even then dreaming. It was not the 
Princess, however, but one of her attendants, 
who, coming up to him, put into his hands a 
sheathed sword, with a message from her young 
mistress that the blade was not to be drawn from 
its scabbard until Bellerophon found himself 
alone, and further, that the lady Philonoe prayed 
him not to delay unsheathing it. There was lit- 
tle need to give the Prince the second part of 
that message, for no sooner had the maid disap- 
peared than he hastened to his room, and drew 


Ill 


Bellerophon in Lycia 

out the bright sword. As he did so a note 
slipped out of the sheath, and unfolding the sheet 
he read in Philonoe’s handwriting an entreaty 
that he should leave the country that very night, 
as there was a plot against his life, and if he 
marched against the Solymi there was little 
chance that he would return alive. 

“ Gird on this sword,” the words ran, “ and go 
down to the quay to-night ; there you will meet 
a seaman followed by two men with torches. 
They will ask you, ‘ Is the sword drawn ? ’ and 
you must answer, ‘ Yes, and the wound healed.’ 
By that sign you will recognize one another. The 
seaman is trusty. He will take you on board 
his vessel, and by morning you will be at a safe 
distance from our shores. I pray you do this, 
for I fear that something constrains you to stay 
with us, Lycians, to your hurt.” 

Bellerophon was unshaken in his resolve to 
wait in Lycia and lead the army against the 
Solymi as he had promised, but he was much 
touched by Philonoe’s care for him. He smiled 
as he read how she had arranged everything to 
further his escape, and he only wished that he 
could tell her, what perhaps she had already 
guessed, that it was love for her which kept him 
amongst her people. Proudly he girded on her 


112 Stories From William Morris 


sword, and fearlessly he went to the King’s hall 
to spend the evening hours with those whom he 
had good reason to mistrust. He chatted uncon- 
cernedly with Jobates, reproved his men’s boast- 
ings, and again spoke to them cheerily of what 
lay before them in the approaching campaign ; 
then he ordered every man in his troops to stop 
feasting at a reasonable hour and be ready to set 
out with him at daybreak. His strict discipline 
was all that the Lycians required to make them 
excellent soldiers ; they knew his worth, too, as 
a leader, and each man in his heart was proud to 
serve under the Corinthian. 

In the early dawn of the following day he rode 
out at the head of his troops, and Philonoe, tor- 
mented as she was at the thought of the perils 
before him, was glad, notwithstanding, that her 
hero had refused to sail away overnight as she 
had urged him to do. 

Seven anxious days passed before news of the 
army reached J obates ; then on the eighth day a 
band of horsemen came dashing into the city 
with tidings that the Solymi had been utterly de- 
feated. “ Our men are on their way home,” they 
announced, “ but they are bringing so many 
prisoners and so much booty that their march is 


113 


Bellerophon in Lycia 

slow. And what of our leader ? Why, our lord 
Bellerophon is unhurt ; surely he bears a charmed 
life ! He stood alone upon the wall when we 
had stormed the stronghold and the Solymi had 
risen again to beat us back, and while the darts 
were falling thick about him, he took as little 
thought of his safety as though he had been in a 
shower of summer rain. ’Twas his example that 
gave us heart to turn upon the enemy and gain 
our victory.” 

Whatever the King felt when he heard that 
Bellerophon was still alive, he was unfeignedly 
delighted to learn that under his leadership 
the Lycians had been so signally successful. 
Straightway he proclaimed a great public thanks- 
giving ; and so overjoyed were the townspeople 
by the news of victory that when the Prince rode 
back with his army to their gates, they gave him 
a splendid ovation. 

While many were pressing forward to welcome 
Bellerophon back to the city, there was one who 
hung back, but who was, nevertheless, infinitely 
the most thankful for his safe return, and that 
was the Princess Philonoe. But knowing that he 
ran great risks if he lingered near her father’s 
court, she pleaded with him, the first morning 
that they met alone, to seek another country. 


114 Stories From William Morris 

Bellerophon laughed at her fears. He told her 
that for the joy of seeing her every day, he would 
live in the midst of earth’s greatest perils and be 
unmoved. To banish him from the city, the 
Princess would have to find a better pretext than 
this vague talk of dangers overhanging him. His 
cheerful words did not by any means reassure 
her ; but love for each other made the two young 
people fain to be together a little longer, and 
love, too, made them strong to meet whatever 
troubles might befall them. And so Bellerophon 
remained at the palace of King Jobates. 

One of the most important events in the 
Lycians’ calendar was the annual festival held in 
honor of the goddess Diana. On that day a 
golden statue of the Huntress was drawn by a 
team of white oxen through the town, a band of 
maidens accompanying it, bare-kneed, with bow 
in hand and a quiver upon the shoulder, after the 
fashion of the goddess herself. In olden times it 
had been the custom to offer human sacrifice at 
this feast, and a reminder of these cruel days still 
existed in the following rites. The maiden at- 
tendants of Diana seize three girls (previously 
chosen by lot to take this part), and carry them 
off, as if for sacrifice upon the altar of the god- 


Bellerophon in Lycia 1 1 5 

dess. Just as the priest raises his knife to slay 
the three victims, the King of the country ap- 
pears with three white deer decked for the altar, 
a great golden horn, a branch of flowering thorn 
wrought in silver, and a richly embroidered silk 
robe — all of which he prays Diana to accept as 
ransom for the maidens. The exchange is agreed 
to, and all ends happily with the release of the 
three young girls, when the goddess has been 
appeased with the oflerings placed by the King’s 
own hands in her temple and by the sacrifice of 
the milk-white deer upon her altar. 

The day for these celebrations having come 
round, market and harbor were both closed, and 
all the townsfolk assembled in their holiday attire 
to do honor to Diana. The car which bore the 
image of the goddess was made ready for the 
procession, and the oxen strained forward as the 
horns blared to mark the opening of the cere- 
mony, but not an inch could the team move their 
burden. It was not that the car was too heavy 
or that the oxen were unwilling ; they pulled stub- 
bornly beneath the yoke; the priests wearied 
themselves with prayers to Diana to suffer the 
procession to move forward, but all was in vain 
— the car remained unmovable, and at last it had 
to be admitted that the goddess would not allow 


ll6 Stories From William Morris 


her image to be borne through the streets that 
morning. To offer what they could of her ac- 
customed honors, the Lycians went on with the 
rest of the ceremony, and three maidens were 
duly seized and borne to her shrine. Alas ! fur- 
ther ill omens occurred to terrify the people. 
One of the maids suddenly fell to the ground be- 
fore the altar, shrieking wildly and shamefully in 
a fit of madness. That in itself was ominous 
enough ; but when the three deer were brought out 
for sacrifice, only two were slain in due fashion, 
The third tossed his antlers free of the priest’s 
guiding hand, and had all but escaped his fate 
when a soldier completed the sum of disasters by 
thrusting his spear into the hart’s side, with the 
impious words : “ Foolish goddess that thou 

hast been to-day ! Think not, Diana, that we 
shall wait patiently till it suits thy humor to ac- 
cept our gifts. Go to what land thou wilt, we of 
Lycia will make suit to thee no longer ! ” 

Nothing was done to repair the insult of these 
words or to turn the goddess from the wrath 
which clearly she nursed against Lycia. The 
people crept home in small parties, afraid almost 
to speak of the ill omens they had witnessed, and 
seeing in the darkening sky sure signs of a storm 
presently to visit their city and work vengeance 


Bellerophon in Lycia 117 

upon them, because in some way they had an- 
gered the maiden goddess. 

Bellerophon, being an alien, was excluded from 
these rites, and had therefore quitted the town to 
spend the day hunting upon the hills. As the 
morning wore on, he noticed the gathering 
clouds, but just as he was turning to seek shelter, 
a much more alarming sight than torrents of rain 
or flashes of lightning caught his eyes. Far 
away in the east he saw a speck of fire, which 
spread rapidly in all directions even as he stood 
watching for a few moments, and the certainty 
grew upon him that it was through no common 
mishap, but by the hand of an enemy, that the 
crops of Lycia were now burning. He rode 
hastily back to the town, hoping that timely 
measures would be taken for the safety of the 
city ; but his warnings, alas ! fell upon heedless 
ears, because the greater part of the people were 
so overcome by fear of Heaven’s wrath that they 
could not realize the danger of a mortal foe. 
The raging storm added to the gloom of the 
city ; yet despite the tempest and the public in- 
difference to his words, Bellerophon set to work, 
and raised a band of soldiers, who swore to be 
ready to ride out against the enemy at whatever 
hour he summoned them. 


Il8 Stories From William Morris 

At midnight, when the storm had ail but spent 
itself, the warders at the gate heard the furious 
galloping of horses. Nearer and nearer came the 
sound, until a troop of horsemen stopped beneath 
the walls of the city, and hammered loudly upon 
the heavy iron gates, while in wild accents they 
begged in Heaven’s name for shelter from the 
fury of an inhuman foe. The warders were such 
cowards that they would have kept the poor 
wretches outside their walls rather than open the 
gates for a single instant, but Bellerophon, riding 
up just then to learn the tidings, rated them 
soundly for their mean spirit, and forced them to 
give admittance to the fugitives. Only when the 
terrified riders saw the gates securely fastened be- 
hind them, would they reply to the shower of 
questions put by the guard. Then they told how 
the country was devastated by the cruelest foe 
that they had yet known. Man, woman, and 
child had alike been put to the sword, as if the 
invaders had vowed to raise a trophy out of the 
bleached bones of the Lycians. The shrines of 
Diana were overthrown, and this and all their 
other infamous deeds seemed the more horrible 
because the enemy were women ! 

On hearing that it was only an army of women- 
folk that was approaching, the faint-hearted 


Bellerophon in Lycia iig 

amongst the throng of listeners revived in spirit 
— to fall into deeper despondency, however, when 
they were told that the invaders were more like 
demons than human beings. The evil tidings 
roused Bellerophon to instant action. Impa- 
tiently turning away from the excited talk, he 
blew a loud blast upon his horn, whereupon his 
sworn followers gathered speedily to join their 
beloved leader. 

** Let King Jobates know that I have taken 
these his men to meet the enemy,” said Bellero- 
phon to the captain of the guard, who stood 
shivering at the gates ; then he mounted his 
steed, and as the gates flew open at his command, 
he dashed out with his troops into the darkness 
of the night. 

The tidings brought by the countryfolk caused 
fresh panic amongst the townspeople next morn- 
ing. Some of the richest citizens secretly hired 
the trading boats that happened to be lying in 
the harbor, and by heavy bribes they got them- 
selves, their wives, children, and slaves, and much 
of their treasure, carried safely out to sea beyond 
the reach of the invaders ; but so greatly did such 
flight increase the alarm and despair of the poorer 
people, who could not aflbrd to hire boats, that 
before long that means of escape had to be for- 


120 Stories From William Morris 

bidden by public order, and the harbor lined with 
a guard to turn back all townsfolk. In the gen- 
eral excitement and confusion, King Jobates lost 
all authority over his people. He was, in fact, 
distracted by the same fears that oppressed every 
one he met except Philonoe. She alone was un- 
moved by the rumors that went from mouth to 
mouth, for she, above all others, had faith in Bell- 
erophon’s guardianship. The more people talked 
of dangers, the more scornfully did the Princess 
look on them. She kept her maids busy with 
their usual work ; she chid them when they gave 
way to foolish terror ; and throughout the days 
of suspense she was ever calm and courageous. 

At length came news from Bellerophon. A 
wearied messenger pushed through the streets, 
and, entering the palace, laid a scroll in the 
King’s hand. 

“ Bellerophon sendeth greeting to King Jobates 
and his household,” ran the letter. “ Let the 
King rejoice, for the hordes of women who laid 
waste his lands are now scattered ; yea, and before 
many days are passed, the remnant of their army 
will be brought captive to the city.” 

Fear and sadness were turned into great joy 
when this new.'' was made known amongst the 
citizens. Sacrifices of thanksgiving were laid 


121 


Bellerophon in Lycia 

upon every altar, and when the priests had paid 
special worship to Diana, they yoked the white 
oxen to the car which had failed to draw her 
image through the streets a few days before. 
The joy of the people was complete when now 
the car moved easily upon its way — a sign that 
the victory of Bellerophon had been accepted by 
the goddess in full satisfaction for the insult 
offered to her in Lycia by the pillagers of her 
shrines. 

When the hero returned with his army and 
their train of captives, his entry into the city was 
celebrated with much more pomp and ceremony 
than upon his return from the campaign against 
the Solymi. A procession of minstrels and 
dancers met him with glad songs, and went be- 
fore him up the thronged streets. Behind his 
troops came a hideous band of captives — women- 
warriors clad, some in the skins of wild beasts, 
some in the fine robes that they had torn from 
the Lycian maids whom they had slaughtered. 
Their queen was an old woman who sat upon a 
brazen car, her chained hands still grasping a 
battle-axe, her heavy crown of gold cast at her 
feet, and the blood of her victims still staining 
her white hair where she had wiped her gory 
hand across her brow. 


122 Stories From William Morris 


Princess Philonoe looked at first with pity and 
curiosity upon the women prisoners, but when 
one walked past with a scalp slung at her belt, 
decked out in a robe that had been taken from 
the corpse of a Lycian lady, and laughing hide- 
ously when the people shrank from her, then the 
Princess closed her eyes firmly to keep out the 
sight of such horrors. Presently an outburst of 
cheers and hearty shouts made her look down 
again upon the street, and she saw, in the rear of 
the procession, Bellerophon himself riding past 
upon his black charger. The laurel- crowned 
victor looked up into the blue eyes that had 
shyly opened at his coming, and in them he read 
that her love for him burned as brightly as did 
his for her. Yet they durst give no outward sign 
of their joy at meeting; and even when they met 
that evening within the banquet-hall, she could 
make him no more than a formal little speech of 
praise and welcome, lest Jobates should suspect 
their deep attachment. 

Some months having passed uneventfully, the 
King was sitting in his judgment-hall on an 
autumn morning when, above the voices of those 
pleading before him, he heard an unwonted 
clamor at the doors. A guard came forward to 
tell him that an excited band of countrymen 


Bellerophon in Lycia 123 

craved speech with him, and by his order one of 
the number was presently admitted. The man 
was at first powerless to speak. He trembled 
from head to foot, and though he opened his lips 
again and again, no sound came from them. 

“I fear me his news is- bad,” said Jobates. 
‘‘Let him have a bowl of wine to give him fresh 
heart, and then he will tell us what has frightened 
him so sorely.” 

The remedy proved worth its trial. After the 
countryman had drunk the wine, his courage re- 
turned to him in some measure, and he began 
his tale. 

“ Know, O King, that I am one of the poor 
peasants in your land who lost home and goods 
alike when the fell army of women laid waste the 
country. Having nothing left of my own, I 
went to serve my brother, whose farm is in the 
west of Lycia, and there we lived happily enough 
until yesterday’s sun shone upon horrors that 
have driven me nigh crazy. 

“ We had but started our vintage, and, as the 
custom was, we called in numbers of our neigh- 
bors to help us to gather the grapes. At day- 
break yesterday they flocked to our homestead, 
and after we had feasted them at our long tables 
in the vineyard, we all set blithely to work upon 


124 Stories From William Morris 

the vine-rows. The young men and maids were 
laughing and singing on the lower slopes that 
run down to the mill stream, and I chanced to 
be alone at the higher end of the vineyard, when 
all at once the sky grew hazy with an evil-smell- 
ing, greenish vapor, and a strange, rasping sound 
caught my ears. I straightened myself to look 
from what quarter this stiflingly hot air was 
coming, and lo ! even as I raised my eyes, the 
most hideous sight met my gaze. Ah, King,” 
shrieked the poor man, as the horror of his tale 
swept over him afresh — “ ah. King, save us from 
the evil in your land ! Bar all the gates ; find us 
deep dungeons for our homes, if so be that we 
can there escape this unspeakable bane ! ” With 
difficulty the King’s guard quieted the fellow, 
and in time he was able to continue his story. 

“How can I tell you of the monster who was 
close upon us ? All that I know for a certainty 
is that it breathed forth a hot, poisonous blast, 
which scorched everything befdre it; that its 
great round eyes were flaming fire ; that its cry 
was like the hissing of countless snakes, mingled 
with the rasping of blade drawn edgewise across 
blade ; and that its head was like unto a lion’s, 
its body shaggy as a goat’s, and its tail long, 
coiled, and scaly. It had sped through the fields 


125 


Bellerophon in Lycia 

swifter even than a maddened charger. Hardly 
had I time to rise and behold it ; no time had 1 
to warn the others or to save myself. Those 
who worked on the lower slopes perchance never 
saw the creature that slew them ; their heads 
were still bent over the vine-rows when death 
was breathed upon them from those fiery nostrils. 
As for myself, I fell senseless at the monster’s 
oncoming, and how it was that ever I escaped 
death, I cannot tell. For hours I must have lain 
in a deep swoon, and when at length conscious- 
ness returned, and I looked around, hardly could 
I believe that my senses had come back to me. 
The world of dreams never showed a sight so 
fearful as the desolation I saw before me. Upon 
the slopes of the old vineyard not a human 
being, not a bush, no, not a blade of grass, was 
to be seen. The earth was scorched bare, and 
upon the site of our old homestead was a mass 
of ruins, where the last flames of a fierce fire were 
still flickering. 

** My limbs shook beneath me, yet I gathered 
strength to flee; often I stumbled, but I rose, 
and ran again, until I came to fields where there 
were no traces of the monster. Then I fell in 
with the men who led me here to tell my tale, 
though Heaven knows that I am little fit to 


126 Stories From William Morris 


speak.” As he said the last words, the poor 
man sank down, utterly worn out with terror and 
exhaustion, and the King’s guard had to bear 
him from the hall. 

The King then ordered the other countrymen 
to be admitted, who, though without any such 
dreadful tale to relate, had yet various pieces of 
evidence to give. They told how yesterday they 
had seen a great fire smouldering on the hills 
west of their dwellings, and how one of them 
had met a man in full flight, his body cruelly 
wounded and bearing marks of burning. An- 
other told of the hideous roaring that had echoed 
from the western hills, and still another, of the 
parching and evil-smelling air that had swept 
across their countryside. From these accounts 
the King knew that the first story was true, at 
least in part, and that he had to deal with a griev- 
ous trouble in his land. What man would dare 
to hunt down the strange monster? The answer 
that came at once to the King’s mind was, Bell- 
erophon. Now Bellerophon, in his love for 
Philonoe, remained still in her father’s service, 
but at the present time he chanced to be away 
in pursuit of a Tyrrhenian pirate who had been 
doing great injury to the Lycian traders of late, 
and so Jobates had to find another man to un- 


127 


Bellerophon in Lycia 

dertake the slaying of the monstrous creature. 
He chose a certain captain, of good repute for 
his valor, and sent him with a band of eighty 
stout men-at-arms upon the dangerous quest. 
Alas ! a day had not passed before the oldest 
man in the party came staggering back to the 
city, his son, who had ridden out by his side, 
now lying dead^ across his saddle-bow, and he 
himself the only man who had escaped alive. 
But how the others met. their death no one ever 
knew, for the survivor spent three days in speech- 
less grief, and on the fourth morning he was 
found dead. 

After that ill-fated expedition no further at- 
tempt was made to destroy the monster. That 
the tales told of its ravages were all too true, 
became day after day more certain, as panic- 
stricken countryfolk flocked to the city with fresh 
tidings of the havoc wrought throughout the 
length and breadth of Lycia. Even within the 
stout walls of the city the people lived in terror 
of their lives, and it was an unspeakable relief to 
sovereign and subjects alike, when one morning 
Bellerophon’s ship was at last sighted. The Sea- 
hawk — for that was the name he had given her — 
sailed proudly into the harbor, her masts hung 
with the shields of the pirates, and on the top- 


128 Stories From William Morris 


mast, fixed upon a spear, was the head of the 
pirate chief who had been the curse of merchants 
for years past. 

Bellerophon's first act was to walk to Jove’s 
temple, there to give thanks for his victory and 
to offer at the shrine a tenth part of his spoil. It 
would be an ill omen, said the townsmen, to 
speak to him of trouble upon land ere he had 
done reverence to the god for peace vouchsafed 
at sea, and so he to whom the eyes of the whole 
people were turning in hope of succor, heard 
nothing of the terror in the land until, in cross- 
ing the great square to the temple, he chanced 
to hear a herald making proclamation : — 

“ The word of Jobates, King of Lycia. Let 
all men know that, whereas our land is now des- 
olated by an unknown and fearful monster, and 
that I, being old and unused to arms, may not my- 
self essay its destruction, yet am I willing to give 
to any man who will rid the land of this plague, the 
hand of my fair daughter Philonoe and an equal 
share with me in the government of my kingdom. 
So may the gods help us ! ” 

With bated breath Bellerophon listened to the 
herald’s words, and with brighter hopes than had 
ever yet burned in his breast, he went upon his 
way, dreaming of the glorious chance that For- 


Bellerophon in Lycia 129 

tune now offered him. He had for the moment 
no curiosity to know what might be the nature 
of the monster to be slain — sufficient that, by its 
destruction, he would win the Princess ; already, 
in his dreams, the creature lay slain by his 
sword ! 

Having ended his service at Jove’s temple, he 
hastened to tell King Jobates how he had pros- 
pered in his attack upon the pirates. For a time 
they talked over the events of the expedition, 
then the King made an allusion to what, as it 
happened, was uppermost in the other’s mind. 
“ ’Tis indeed well that we shall suffer no more 
hurt from these pirates, Bellerophon, yet the 
troubles of our country are not near an end. It 
seems to me as though the gods would rid the 
rest of the world of plagues and pests by sending 
them all into this small land of Lycia, so many 
have visited us of late — and the last is ever the 
worst.” Then, in answer to Bellerophon’s in- 
quiries, the King told him all the reports current 
about the fiery monster, and straightway received 
his offer to go forth against it. 

“ You have vowed that you will give a certain 
rich reward to him who rids the land of this pest,” 
remarked Bellerophon, as their talk drew to a 
close, “ but if to keep this late vow should cause 


130 Stories From William Morris 

you to break another made aforetime, which 
would you hold to — the old vow or the new ? ” 

The King started up in such confusion of face 
that he showed the question touched him pain- 
fully. He stammered in reply that if Bellerophon 
returned victorious from the adventure he would 
certainly receive his due reward ; but the insin- 
cerity which underlay this answer did not escape 
the Corinthian. 

Jobates breathed more freely when he had said 
farewell to the clear-eyed young Prince. “ Would 
Heaven the next few weeks were over ! ” was his 
fervent prayer as he thought of the difficulties 
that lay before him and the dilemma which he 
had to face. Presently he summoned the captain 
of the guard, and gave him orders to keep watch 
at the city gates, so that what tidings arrived 
concerning the monster, might be instantly 
carried to the palace. 

Question every man who comes from the 
country parts of Lycia," he said, “ for now that 
the Prince Bellerophon is setting out on his ad- 
venture, we may have news of grave importance 
ere long. What think you, my captain, of the 
champion s chances of success ? ” 

The captain answered that, to his thinking, 
Bellerophon was likely to return triumphant. 


Bellerophon in Lycia 131 

<< He faces mortal dangers as though they held 
no risk for him, and though he enjoys life so 
heartily himself, he looks scornfully, aye, wither- 
ingly, at those who think of securing their safety 
in the hour of peril. At times we fancy he must 
be a god in disguise ; but however that may be, 
I own, sire, that I hate to see him in our town. 
Our misfortunes date from the time he first 
arrived to throw our valor into the shade, and 
to dazzle the common folk by his godlike 
prowess.” 

“ Aha, you bear him a grudge ! ” cried the 
King. ‘‘ Then, if ever he return from this fool- 
hardly enterprise, would you care to bring about 
his death ? Our townspeople, who worship him 
so madly, could easily be led to believe that 
their hero, having fully accomplished the deliver- 
ance of our country, had retired to his proper 
place amongst the gods ! ” 

With a knowing glance at the King, the cap- 
tain replied that such a scheme rather fell in with 
his own humor, but that if he contrived to cut 
short the Prince’s career, he would expect to fall 
heir to the rewards that must else have been be- 
stowed upon the slayer of the monster. His 
sinister words satisfied the King, who raised no 
objection to his demand. Enough for the pres- 


132 Stories From William Morris 

ent,” said he. “ Come to me in the morning, 
and we will speak further of the matter.” 

Even while these two were talking, Bellerophon 
had ridden away from the palace. So eager was 
he to enter on the quest that he was beyond the 
city gates by sundown, having waited only to 
seek a quiet moment with the Princess. He 
found her by the door of the great hall, and when 
she marveled to see him again in armor, seeing 
that it was but a few hours since he returned 
from his last exploit, he answered that he had 
girded on his sword that very day to do battle 
with the strange creature who was even then dev- 
astating the land. Then, although she knew well 
what would be her lot for days to come — an 
agony of suspense, followed perchance by the 
breaking of her heart if the gods were so cruel 
as to let her hero's life be sacrificed — she kept up 
her courage, and bade him good speed upon his 
errand ; and he, spurring forth from the palace, 
felt that no task, set by god or man, could prove 
too hard, if the doing of it gave him the title to 
claim such a brave, loving, and noble bride. 

After his interview with the King next morn- 
ing, the captain of the guard took his stand at 
the gates of the city, awaiting news of Beller- 


133 


Bellerophon in Lycia 

ophoii and the monster. The day passed slowly 
and dismally; fugitives of every description were 
fleeing for refuge within the walls. Even the 
priestesses of a sacred temple some ten leagues 
distant from the city came trembling, wild-eyed, 
and half-frenzied because the unknown creature 
menaced their very shrine. But no tidings could 
the captain gather about the Corinthian Prince. 
Darkness fell, and still he waited at his post. 
Then at last, when the grayness of dawn was 
creeping across the land, he saw a mail-clad 
horseman, at whose coming he flung open the 
gates, and on whose face he instantly read news 
— good news for the country. Curtly he bade 
the stranger keep silence, if he bore tidings of the 
monster, until they reached the King's presence ; 
then, riding by his side to the palace, he roused 
the sleepy warders, and gained admittance to 
Jobates’ chamber. 

“ Pardon us, O sire. We bring you news of 
the fell creature," he said, gently awakening the 
King. Then in a different tone : “ Speak up, 

man, and let my master have your story." 

“ The news is good, O King ; the monster has 
been slain by a brave knight. And if it please 
you, my lord, this is what I know about its 
killing. 


134 Stories From William Morris 

“ I and two other men were fain to risk our 
lives in an encounter with the dread waster of 
our country. So armed in this coat-of-mail, 
which my father told me a cunning man had 
once rendered proof against death blows or 
mortal injuries, I set out with my friends two 
days ago. Following the tracks of the beast 
through the scorched countryside, we saw that it 
lurked somewhere in the lands adjoining the 
temple of Minerva across our western plains. 

“ At nightfall, having reached the temple, we 
sought out the priests, told them of our resolve, 
and prayed that we might abide with them over- 
night. The priests made answer that so near had 
the creature ■ now drawn to their dwelling that 
they had gathered together what things they 
could bear with them, and only awaited daybreak 
to flee from a spot where, seemingly, not even the 
goddess could protect them. They counseled us 
instantly to quit their grounds, nor dream of at- 
tacking an enemy whom to face was certain 
death. We held to our purpose, however, and, 
seeing that their words could not prevail with us, 
they gave us refreshment, such as they had, 
whereafter we three comrades laid ourselves down 
to sleep in a chamber on the north wall of the 
temple. 


Belle rophon in Lycia 13^ 

‘‘The night was but half spent when I was 
awakened by heart-rending shrieks of terror and 
the most hideous noise, piercing as the blast that 
hisses forth from a great furnace. I sprang up, 
and beheld one of my comrades lying deathlike 
on the floor, and the other, rushing in wildest 
frenzy round and round the room, powerless even 
to hide himself from the danger. Through the 
casement shone a ghastly, white light ; the monster, 
I knew in a twinkling, was within the temple 
precincts ! 

“ A sudden recklessness and scorn of death took 
hold of me in that awful hour, and helped me, 
for a time at least, to play the man. I flung on 
my armor, and made my way to the main hall 
through a cloud of sulphurous, suflbcating smoke. 
On the pavement of the hall lay men dead or 
dying; some writhed beneath the statue of the 
goddess Minerva, who looked down upon them 
with calm face, unmoved by their agonies ; others 
had crawled behind the pillars in the vain hope 
of finding shelter. Despite the dense smoke, 1 
made shift to reach the door at the far end of the 
hall, for there, I judged, I would find the 
monster. The ghastly light that had shone into 
our bedchamber became clearer again to my eyes 
as I groped my way across the hall. It would 


136 Stories From William Morris 

wane for a moment, then anon there would be a 
throb, and again it would burst forth, throwing a 
lurid glow upon all around. 

“ I was nigh the farther door before I caught 
a glimpse of the monster itself. Through the 
clouds of smoke loomed a pair of great, blood- 
shot, fiery eyes, a heavy, shaggy head, and an 
enormous bulk of body covered with tufts of gray 
hair. Never was the creature motionless for one 
second. Amid its snorting and bellowing it was 
constantly heaving up and down, at one instant 
seeming to have swollen twice the size that it 
had been a moment earlier, and from its sides 
there shot out hideous black claws that ever and 
again snatched up a victim and drew him to his 
doom. On the ground before me lay an armed 
man, and even as I stood and marked the beast, 
I heard his armor ring beneath a sudden stroke, 
and saw the poor fellow drawn into the heart 
of that awful mass from which the long feelers 
had been stretched out steathily to seize its 
prey. 

“ The horror of the scene overcame me. Just 
as I should have thrown myself with drawn sword 
upon the brute, I turned faint. The steel slipped 
from my fingers; stooping to raise it, I stag- 
gered, and then, as a clear trumpet blast rang in 


Bellerophon in Lycia 137 

my ears above the hideous snortings, I sank upon 
the ground, and knew no more. 

“ The next that I heard was a kindly voice bid- 
ding me rise and be of good cheer, for the 
creature which I had essayed to slay, lay dead 
before me. When the mist had cleared from my 
eyes, I saw a knight in armor bending over me. 
O sire, never will I forget what a goodly sight he 
was ! I doubt not he was young, but he had the 
look of one who had overcome the troubles of a 
lifetime and had learned courage and endurance 
thereby, so godlike he was, so fearless. 

“ He told me how he had come up to the 
temple at dead of night in pursuit of the monster, 
and had blown a loud blast upon his trumpet 
that the priests might know help was at hand. 
Just as I fell, he had dashed forward and slain the 
monster. ‘ It cost me no little blood,’ said he, 
‘ ere I could make an end of it.’ 

By this time dawn was at hand, and when I 
peered down upon the ground before us, I was 
able, in the dim light, to descry a gory mass of 
rough, clotted hair and the scaly coils of a 
dragon’s tail around it. It was no sight to linger 
over, and gladly I turned away from it to help 
the knight to bathe his wounds, for indeed they 
bled sorely, and methinks they showed how that 


138 Stories From William Morris 

his life had been in great jeopardy. When we 
had stanched the bleeding, we went around the 
temple to see if any men were left alive. My 
two friends, I found, lay dead without a wound ; 
and dead was every other man in the place — 
most of them, like my comrades, killed by fear 
alone. 

“ When broader daylight came, we set about 
to examine the carcass of the beast. The ground 
on which it lay was drenched with its dark blood, 
while, in the midst of this sea of gore, the great 
hulk stood like a wreck stranded in a shallow bay. 
Like the broadside of a wreck, too, were its lean 
ribs, and when, marveling at its spareness, we 
pressed closer to the body, we were astounded to 
find that the flesh had completely withered 
away ! Only the dried skin remained, drawn 
tight across its bones ; even its teeth were al- 
ready falling out of their sockets, for many of 
them we found lying in the pool of blood be- 
neath its head. In how short a time was the 
deadly creature crumbling into harmless dust ! 
* Well,’ said its slayer, ‘ we must take at least its 
skull to the King. You showed the right spirit, 
my friend, when you rose to face this enemy last 
night, so, if you will, do now what you would 
fain have done then : cut off its head, and 


Bellerophon in Lycia 139 

bear it to King Jobates for a token that his land 
is freed from the pest.’ Then he bade me tell 
you, O sire, that he who had done the deed was 
the exile from Corinth, and that on the morrow 
he would come to claim his due reward. 

With right good will I hewed off the mon- 
ster’s head, and tied it to my saddle-bow, and 
then with a humble farewell to the knight, I rode 
off across the plains. For many a league 
through the richer part of our country, the tracks 
of the fell brute showed like paths burned black 
and bare, and the land was desolate, as though a 
foreign army had swept down on it and killed 
every soul. I counted upon reaching the city 
ere nightfall, but by midday so heavy a drowsi- 
ness came over me that I could not but stop to 
rest by the wayside. I laid myself down upon 
the grass, holding my horse’s reins in my hand, 
and so fell fast asleep. 

“ When I awoke it was moonlight, and my 
horse, with loose reins, was grazing near by. He 
came to me at my call, but much was I disturbed 
when I saw that the head of the monster no 
longer hung from the saddle. There was no one 
to have stolen it whilst I slept. I searched 
around, but it had not fallen upon the grass ; 
only, as my eyes grew accustomed to the dim 


140 Stories From William Morris 

light, I was able to trace a line of gray ashes that 
marked where the horse had strayed in search of 
pasture. They were the ashes of the skull, which 
had crumbled away within a few short hours ! 

“ At first I thought it were idle to bring you 
this strange tale without a token to prove its 
truth, but when I called to mind how strictly the 
knight charged me to bear the tidings to the pal- 
ace, I mounted and came upon my way. Doubt 
me if it please you to-day, O King, but ere long 
you will be assured that I have spoken no false- 
hood, for the pest will never again trouble your 
land.” 

The King and his captain stared blankly at 
one another when the tale was ended. They 
were alike pleased to learn that the dreadful 
monster was slain, but that the Corinthian Prince 
had done the deed, and was returning to claim 
his due reward, caused Jobates great distress. He 
had trusted that in this adventure Bellerophon 
would surely lose his life, and now he was 
awakened to find that once more, against his will, 
he would have to plot the destruction of the man 
whom in his heart he could not but admire, and 
against whom he himself bore no grudge. 

The silence that had fallen for a few seconds 
on the party was first broken by the captain. 


Bellerophon in Lycia 141 

Why, the hero of the day is Prince Beller- 
ophon, I make no doubt," he cried airily, as 
though that had not been evident from the out- 
set. “ What a great service he has done us, to 
be sure ! He has indeed earned the rich reward 
you have in store for him, sire." 

The King had now recovered himself. He 
turned to the stranger, and telling him that he saw 
no reason to disbelieve the story, promised him a 
meet recompense for the part that he had played 
in bringing the good news to the city. The man 
had no hesitation in naming the boon which he 
most desired : “ Let me become the Prince’s serv- 
ing- man," he pleaded ; “ there is nothing that 
would please me better.” 

Then the King remarked that, although he had 
told them much that they wished to know, he 
had spoken but hazily about the nature of the 
unknown monster. “ Now tell us distinctly of 
its shape and size," he urged. “ Nay ; but, my 
lord,” answered the man, “ last night methought 
I should never be able to put the hideous vision 
of it out of my mind, and lo ! already it has 
waxed dim and uncertain. They say that it had 
the tail of a dragon ? Nay, I cannot recall if 
that were so, and belike I erred when I tried to 
see in it the image of other beasts. When I 


142 Stories From William Morris 

strive now to picture it, it falls to pieces in the 
shaping, just as it fell into nothingness after it 
was slain. Nevertheless, I swear it was in truth 
a monstrous and a fearful creature.” 

Just then there arose loud cheers and cries of 
joy and thanksgiving. Bellerophon had entered 
the city, and the people, who were now astir, had 
learned his good tidings, and were escorting him 
to the great hall of the palace, where, before he 
had well replied to the many eager questions 
showered upon him, he received from the captain 
of the guard a message of congratulation and wel- 
come from the King. When, some time later, 
Jobates himself entered the hall, he led beside him 
the Princess, whose eyes glistened with tears of 
joy as she heard him make solemn avowal that, 
in fulfilment of his promise, this, his daughter 
Philonoe, should on the morrow be wedded to the 
noble protector of Lycia, Prince Bellerophon, who 
henceforth should bear equal title and rule with 
him as king. Through Pliilonoe’s shyness shone 
such joy that the Lycians cheered more lustily 
than ever, seeing that this was no loveless con- 
tract of marriage, but the betrothal of true and 
devoted lovers. 

To Bellerophon the whole scene appeared like 
a dream, and when he gave thanks in a few 


Bellerophon in Lycia 143 

simple words for the priceless gift bestowed by 
Jobates, his own voice sounded to him far off and 
unfamiliar. Yet even in this hour of bliss there 
lurked in his mind a strange sense of insecurity 
and uneasiness. He looked upon the sea of 
upturned faces, and felt that he could trust any of 
the nobles who were standing beneath the dais ; 
but as for the King and the crafty captain beside 
him, they were both so obviously playing a 
double part that he felt his life to be no safer in 
their company than it had been when he faced the 
monster in the temple of Minerva. 

It was the eve of her wedding-day, and although 
midnight had come, Philonoe was too busy with 
her thoughts about the future to be able to sleep. 
She was oppressed with a dread that even yet 
Bellerophon might not be safe from secret ene- 
mies ; and after vainly trying to overcome her 
forebodings, she determined at last that, late as it 
was, she would steal down the broad staircase to 
the shrine of Minerva, and make supplication to 
the goddess on her lover’s behalf. 

There was, seemingly, no one else afoot in that 
part of the palace when the princess crept softly 
down to the court, in the centre of which stood 
Minerva's temple ; but as she walked along the 


144 Stories From William Morris 

cloisters, she heard a muffled clash of arms and 
the sound of approaching footsteps. Hastily she 
slipped into the shadow of a pillar, not a moment 
too soon if she wished to escape notice, for imme- 
diately a man dressed in full armor stepped out 
of the grove of olive trees that fringed the sacred 
enclosure, looked all around, then ran up the 
steps into the temple. The man had scarcely 
disappeared before another and another came 
stealthily out from various points, and darted 
across the patch of moonlight to the temple door. 
Philonoe counted that ten men had mustered, 
each with a sword at his side, and all so furtive in 
their movements that she felt certain they were 
there for no good purpose. She waited until she 
saw that no more were coming, then she picked 
up her long silk skirts, and cautiously mounted 
the steps of the temple, where, through a small 
opening in the folding doors, she saw the ten 
armed men standing in the dim lamplight within. 

A roll of names was being taken. She heard 
a low voice call : “ Milo of Colchis? "and there 

came a hoarse answer : “ Here." “ The Clearer 

of the Shore ? Has he come ? " Some one re- 
plied : “Yes "; and then the first speaker ex- 
claimed that, since their number was complete, 
they should set to work without delay. “ In the 


Bellerophon in Lycia 145 

Ivory Room of the palace Bellerophon lies sleep- 
ing. His serving-men have ere now been 
drugged, and can make no fight when we ten 
break into their master’s bedchamber. However 
bold he be, we cannot be beaten by one man 
single-handed and unarmed ; and, moreover, we 
may even slay him in his sleep. Well, when we 
have killed the Unconquerable, you, Clearer of the 
Shore, shall carry his body down to your boat, 
row far out, and drop it, heavily weighted, into 
the sea. The rest of us will burn the blood-stained 
things that might tell of his death, so that in the 
morning when the bridegroom is missing, we can 
say : ‘ Lo ! he has gone and left not a trace of 
his sojourn amongst us. Truly he was one of the 
gods, who came down to rescue us from great 
perils, and now, his labors ended, he has re- 
turned to his rightful place ! ’ The people of our 
town think so much of their hero, see you, that 
they will readily believe our words, and perchance 
may comfort themselves by raising a temple to 
his memory. Ha, ha ! ” 

Poor Philonoe listened to this cruel talk until 
she had learned all she could of the plot against 
her lover. Then with a drawn, white face and 
her lips tightly closed to keep back a gasp of dis- 
may that might betray her, she turned, and crept 


146 Stories From William Morris 

quietly down the steps to the court, where she 
broke into the hastiest running that ever princess 
had attempted. When she reached the door of 
the Ivory Room she saw that Bellerophon’s men 
were lying around in such a deep stupor that it 
was useless to attempt rousing them ; and so, 
passing within, she herself picked from off the wall 
the pieces of armor which her lover would sorely 
need within the next short hour. There was 
a helmet, a coat of mail, a spear and a sword, all 
of which she carried to Bellerophon’s bedside, and 
wakening him with a light touch, she whispered 
that armed traitors were upon their way to sur- 
prise him, and that he must instantly prepare for 
their attack. So soon as she had roused him she 
disappeared, and he, donning his armor, stood 
in readiness for the unknown enemy. Amid the 
rustling of the autumn leaves, driven by a light 
wind across the pavement without, he soon dis- 
tinguished some stealthy footsteps approaching ; 
in the moonlight that shone across his room he 
saw the latch of the door slowly raised, and 
through the widening chink he caught the gleam 
of drawn swords. Then, just as the door was 
flung open, he gave a ringing shout, and hurled 
his spear at the foremost man, who staggered for- 
ward, and fell dead across his threshold. 


Bellerophon in Lycia 147 

This was not how the conspirators had ex- 
pected to make their entrance into the Ivory 
Room. To find their victim alert and fully 
armed was an unpleasant surprise, and the sight 
of the spear in their leader’s breast completed 
their discomfiture. They crouched into the 
shadow beyond the doorway, muttering to one 
another that they liked not their job. Beller- 
ophon’s sword was brandished aloft, another 
shout rang from his throat, and almost at the 
same moment the blast of a horn echoed strong 
and deep through the night air. The nine as- 
sassins waited to hear no more; they knew it 
w’as the horn of Neptune, which, under pain of 
death, no one might wind except to bring 
succor to the King of Lycia; and, taking in- 
stantly to flight, they scattered, panic-stricken, 
in ail directions, their paths as devious as the 
tales they afterward told of the night’s adven- 
tures. 

Bellerophon, left to himself, crossed the room^ 
and, bending over the man whom he had slain 
with the spear, saw that it was none other than 
the captain of the guard. While he stood mus- 
ing, in scorn rather than anger over his late 
enemy, he heard again the horn of Neptune, and 
following upon the blast came the trampling of 


148 Stories From William Morris 

many feet, and the sound of his own name 
shouted by a multitude of voices. 

Crossing the blood-stained threshold, he passed 
along the corridor toward the great hall, whither 
men were flocking from all quarters, obedient to 
the loud summons. 

Before he had come within sight of the people, 
however, a slender, white-robed maid glided out 
of the shadow of a recess, and whispered softly 
in his ear : “ Hark how our men call on you-, 
Bellerophon ! Will you go tell them now that 
all is well with you ? It was I who wound the 
horn, dear heart, to bring you aid against those 
ten traitors, but, thank the gods ! you had no 
need of our succor.” Having spoken thus, Phil- 
onoe passed on swiftly to her chamber, and Bell- 
erophon hastened to the hall, where he found an 
excited crowd of Lycians clamoring to learn what 
danger threatened the young King’s life. So re- 
lieved were they to see their hero appear safe 
and unconcerned amongst them that it was not 
difficult for him to persuade them that they had 
been roused by a false alarm. He chaffed them 
upon their dread of fresh dangers, and told them 
there was no greater disturbance than had been 
made by a band of ill-disposed men-at-arms, one 
of whom now lay slain, while the rest had long 


Bellerophon in Lycia 149 

since fled. When, by these reassuring words, he 
had dispersed the people, he turned back to the 
Ivory Room — its threshold already cleared of the 
dead body — and laid himself down to think, and 
presently to dream, of the brave Princess by 
whose courage and devotion his life had been 
saved. 

On the morrow Bellerophon, no longer in 
armor, but clad in royal robes of gold, took his 
•seat upon the throne in the great hall, which 
was thronged with merchants, seafaring folk, and 
hunters from distant quarters of the kingdom — 
all of whom came to do homage to their new 
King, the protector of their trade on land and 
sea, and to offer him rich and beautiful gifts of 
ivory, furs. Eastern merchandise, and wares of 
their own country. Busied though he was with 
the people before him, he did not fail to notice 
that Jobates was absent from the hall, and as 
time wore on, he wondered ever the more why 
his fellow sovereign did not appear. At length 
a slave approached, carrying in his hand the 
casket which Bellerophon himself had aforetime 
brought to Jobates from Proetus, King of Argos. 

** My master. King Jobates,” he said, bending 
humbly before the throne, “ prays that King 
;^ellerophon would judge by the writing that lies 


150 Stories From William Morris 

within this casket, whether the man is worthy of 
much blame who strove, time after time, to fulfil 
what his vow required of him. And further, my 
master would fain know if King Bellerophon is 
now ready to accept what was proffered to him 
yestermorn, and if, in receiving that gift, he is 
willing to put away from him certain unpleasant 
memories of the past year.” 

When Bellerophon opened the casket he found 
the letter which Proetus had written to the Lycian 
monarch : 

“ Time was when I saved your life from the 
lions, Jobates, and in your gratitude you then 
gave me two gifts. For the first — the hand of 
your daughter Sthenoboea — I feel less thankful 
now than I did in those days ; perchance your 
second boon will give me more satisfaction. That 
second gift, as you may well remember, was a 
solemn oath to do at any time whatsoever service 
I might ask of you. The time has at length 
come for the fulfilment of that promise, and I 
now require you to do my bidding. The man 
who bears you this casket, Bellerophon of Corinth, 
was once dear to my heart, but he has this day 
proved himself so base that it is needful he should 
die ; and sinc^>.^fter our great friendship, I can- 
not suffer him to be slain in mine own countr)^ 


Bellerophon in Lycia 151 

1 command you to put him forthwith to death in 
Lycia. What you must needs do, I warn you to 
do quickly, for it were grievous that, like me, 
you should grow to love the man whom yet you 
must slay. Whether he die by your foeman’s 
sword in battle, or in time of peace at the hands 
of your own folk, I care not. Your vow paid, I 
pray that you may meet with greater happiness 
than has fallen to my lot. Fare you well ! ” 

“ Say to your master,” commanded Beller- 
ophon, when he had read the letter, “ that I 
think no ill of him who strove to keep his vow. 
He acted treacherously, methinks, only because 
he deemed himself bound to perform his friend’s 
bidding. All is forgiven, you shall tell the King, 
and I pray that he will straightway deliver into 
my keeping the precious gift which yesterday he 
promised me.” 

The slave hastened back with his message, and 
ere long a strain of glad music rang through the 
hall, and Jobates, his face at last joyous and un- 
clouded, appeared leading toward Bellerophon the 
promised gift — the Princess Philonoe, a vision of 
perfect loveliness in her bridal attire. And so in 
Lycia, far from his native land, Bellerophon found 
his destined kingdom, where henceforth he dwelt 
in great amity with Jobates, adored of the people, 


152 Stories From William Morris 

and more than repaid for all the wrong he en- 
dured at the hands of Sthenoboea, by the deep 
and enduring love of her gentle sister Philonod 


The Proud King 

I N a far distant country there once lived a 
King who was surpassingly rich and pow- 
erful. From his earliest manhood he had 
always gained what he wished : first a beautiful 
wife, then, abundance of riches and a vast king- 
dom, to which he added many other lands by 
conquest. But his good fortune did not make 
•life happier for those around him. Every year of 
prosperity left him more self-satisfied, till in time 
his vanity became intolerable. Even the most 
accomplished flatterers lived in fear of offending 
his pride. No one, said he, was worthy to sit at 
meat with him ; it was death to a courtier to ad- 
dress him without his leave. 

Now, one summer morning this King awoke 
early, and, to amuse himself, he began to count 
up all the riches that were his and the great 
deeds that he had done. 

** What a record is mine ! ” he cried exultantly. 
“ I have made my kingdom ten times the size of 
my father’s. The plot of land where the first 
king of the country built his town and palace 

153 


154 Stories From William Morris 

only suffices to-day for our royal kennels ! Well 
may men bow down before me, for surely I am 
too great a king to be swept away by death. If 
I have risen so high above the common lot, why 
should I not rise still higher, and enjoy an un- 
ending life on earth ? For aught I know, that 
may be my destiny ! " 

With these vain thoughts King Jovinian 
soothed himself to sleep, and did not waken 
again till the sun was high in the heavens. A 
glance at the bright sunshine that played upon 
the fresh green leaves outside his window re- 
minded him that it was a morning for the chase. 
His huntsmen were summoned when their master 
was ready, the hounds bayed eagerly on the 
leash, and the party swept merrily from the 
courtyard. 

Deep into the forest they galloped, their red 
coats scattering amongst the trees ; there the 
king, whose horse was the swiftest in the land, 
soon outdistanced the others, and was lost to 
their sight in the glades that stretched far before 
them. For many hours Jovinian rode on in hot 
pursuit of the stag till, breaking through the edge 
of the forest, he found himself on a grassy riverside 
shaded by trees. Heated with his long ride, he 
thought nothing could be more delightful than a 


The Proud King 155 

swim in the stream, so, tying his hunter’s reins 
to a tree, he threw off his costly dress, and 
plunged into the cool depths. 

The clear, flowing water proved even more re- 
freshing than he had expected, and it was long 
before the King swam leisurely to the bank. 
When he came to look for his robes, great was 
his surprise, and still greater his indignation, to 
find that clothes and horse alike had disappeared. 
Had some thief run away with them? Woe be- 
tide the villain when he was caught ! Cooled by 
his dip in the river, the King grew hot again — 
this time with anger. But though it was meet 
that his Majesty should vow vengeance on the 
culprit, it was less fitting that he should stand 
there, naked, on the bank. He raised his voice, 
and called loudly on his courtiers. Alas ! no an- 
swer came, cry as he might. A finch or two, 
startled by his shouts, rose on the wing, but flut- 
tered carelessly back to their leafy perch when 
they saw the harmless nature of the alarm. For 
the first time in his life Jovinian found no one to 
attend to his wants. What should he do, he 
wondered. Not far from the riverside he would 
find a snug manor-house, built lately by his or- 
ders for the chief ranger of the forest, who, loyal 
subject that he was, would be only too glad to 


156 Stories From William Morris 

offer his monarch clothing and refreshments, the 
best he had to give. Knowing the road to this 
house, the King hurried forward. A most dis- 
tressing walk it was, for the hot rays of the sun 
beat on Jovinian’s unprotected skin, and oh ! 
how hard it was to trudge afoot when but an 
hour ago he had been astride the finest horse in 
the kingdom. The thought, however, of the kind 
entertainment he would receive from his ranger 
was some comfort to the unhappy king. 

“ Courage ! ” he murmured to himself. ‘‘ Be- 
fore long you will be sitting at ease in a cool 
chamber, dressed (thank Heaven!), in dainty 
summer robes, and sipping a draught to banish 
the memory of this miserable afternoon.” 

But what of the huntsmen in the meantime ? 
While they roamed through the forest they met 
a horseman who, riding Jovinian’s hunter and 
wearing the King’s dress, resembled their absent 
lord so precisely that all saluted him as king, and, 
without any misgivings, rode back with him to 
the palace at nightfall. In hall and council-room 
the stranger played the part of Jovinian, and not 
even the Queen herself guessed that it was no 
longer the true king who sat on the throne. 

All went well, then, with those who returned 
to court, but fortune did not favor poor Jovinian 


The Proud King 157 

in his forlorn state. When he came to the 
ranger’s house he blew, as was the custom of 
those days, on the horn hanging by the doorway. 
The porter looked out from behind the grating, 
and seeing a man stand, the horn at his lips, 
without even a cloak about him, he rubbed his 
eyes to make sure he was not dreaming. 

“How now?” he shouted gruffly. “What 
tempts you to go bugling without livery ? We 
don’t buy skins in warm summer weather ; no 
need to show us yours ! Home with you, and 
find something to put on ! ” 

“ Fool ! ” cried the King, furiously angry, 
“ throw open the gate this instant. It is Jovinian, 
your king, who stands here. Let the master of 
the manor know that his liege lord has come de- 
siring clothes, food, and rest. Make haste, fel- 
low, if you wish to find pardon for your rash 
insults.” 

The porter roared with laughter. “ Sure, this 
is all a dream ! Now, don’t you see this solid 
gate melting into thin air? Step through, my 
man ! ” Then with another mocking laugh he 
disappeared; and the King, left to himself, beat 
madly against the door. Just as suddenly as he 
had vanished, back came the porter, and un- 
fastened the heavy bolts. 


158 Stories From William Morris 

“ Enough of that noise,” he said. “ I will give 
you your heart’s desire, and lead you before my 
master. On my solemn word, he will make you 
sorry you ever asked to see him. And if I am 
blamed for bringing you in, I will make you 
sorrier. Quick march ! ” 

The sun was streaming through the western 
windows of the hall where the ranger sat in his 
oak chair, a glass of wine at his side, enjoying a 
quiet hour at the end of his long day’s work. 
With pride and pleasure his eyes turned from the 
rich carvings of hunting scenes along his walls to 
the trim gardens that lay around the house. A 
squire at court, without lands of his own, he had 
been rewarded for years of faithful service by a 
gift of house and grounds when, twelve months 
ago, the King had appointed him to the charge 
of the royal parks and forests. Many a visit had 
Jovinian paid since then to his trusty retainer in 
his new manor. 

This afternoon the ranger’s pleasant reveries 
were to be interrupted. The sound of rude laugh- 
ter in the courtyard floated up through the open 
Windows, and at the same time a servant entered 
the hall to tell his master, with a scarcely sup- 
pressed smile, of the strange, unclothed visitor 
who stood waiting admission. 


159 


The Proud King 

“ The fellow calls himself our king — though 
beyond the trimming of his beard there is no 
likeness whatever. He clamors for a hearing, 
sir. Will you have him brought before you?” 

“ Aye, bring him in,” said the ranger ; “ we 
must see that he is not acting the madman for 
some evil purpose. I’m sure I wish he had 
chosen any other hour than this to break in upon 
us. Well, well, where’s your man ? ” 

Speechless with anger, Jovinian had followed 
the porter from the lodge. He had run the 
gauntlet in the courtyard, where the serving-men 
had jeered at his appearance ; but at last, thought 
he, as he came before the ranger, wrongs would 
be righted, and his retainer’s household would 
once more pay him every honor when their 
master recognized his sovereign. 

“ You are surprised to see your king stand be- 
fore you without his royal robes,” he began, 
“ but I shall soon explain by what accident this 
has come about, if you will first be good enough, 
Hugh, to give me the cloak that lies beside you. 
You, of course, can recognize royalty though it 
is stripped of its trappings, but unfortunately, 
your servants have failed to do so. What ! Do 
you mean to say you don’t know me ? ” Here 
the King stopped short, for he found the ranger 


l6o Stories From William Morris 

looking at him not with reverence, but with 
pity. 

The master of the manor turned to one of his 
serving-men. ** The poor creature is mad,” he 
said quietly. “ Take him away ; give him food, 
clothing, and a night’s shelter, and, above all, see 
that he is treated kindly. We can do little else 
for him. But, thank God, the sick in mind some- 
times recover.” 

When Jovinian saw that the ranger would not 
believe he was anything but a commoner, and 
that he thought him quite crazy, he fell into a 
fierce passion. Bitterly he cursed his late favor- 
ite, calling him a hateful traitor and an ungrateful 
wretch ; then in his fury he shook off those who 
would have held him back, and madly rushed 
from the hall, out of the gates, and on to the 
highway again. 

His sudden flight made the ranger the more 
certain that he was a madman. “ When next I 
see King Jovinian,” said he, “ I must tell him of 
this poor, moonstruck pretender. But hearken, 
my men, let us try now if the harp will not 
banish the memory of that unhappy wanderer. 
Tis churlish to sit moping in this paradise which 
my good lord has made over to me. Call me my 
minstrel anon.” 


The Proud King i6l 

Out on the quiet country road Jovinian ran 
blindly forward, knowing not, nor caring, where 
he turned, until, in the deepening shadows of 
evening, he sank down, spent in mind and body, 
on the grassy borders of the highway. The 
twilight softly changed to the blue stillness of a 
summer night, and still the King lay half sense- 
less. Hours might have passed — he took no 
measure of time now — when far down the road 
he saw a twinkling light gleam through the dark- 
ness. Nearer and clearer it grew, until it re- 
solved itself into a forest of torches that flickered 
round the litter of some nobleman. Besides the 
torch-bearers, men-at-arms were also in attend- 
ance ; and Jovinian sprang to his feet as he saw 
that their livery bore the badge of one of his 
most intimate counselors, old Duke Peter. 

Maddened by all that he had undergone that 
day, and suspicious that his courtiers had plotted 
his downfall, he determined to challenge his old 
friend. 

“ Ha ! my lord Duke,” he shouted, high above 
the din of trampling feet, go you to-night to 
join my enemies ? The world, it seems, has 
turned against your master, and you, you wily 
old fox, will begin doubling too. You were ever 
a scheming rascal ! ” 


i 62 Stories From William Morris 


A man-at-arms stepped forward, and gave him 
a light tap with his sheathed sword. “ Say that 
again to the Duke’s. face! You will find it no 
cheap game to rail at his lordship.” 

The litter was drawn up in the middle of the 
road. Beneath the flare of torches Jovinian saw 
the haughty, keen-eyed, thin lipped face of his 
courtier, who yesterday had smiled obsequiously 
at the crowned monarch and to-night was gaz- 
ing stonily at the pariah. 

“ My man, your words are wild. If you have 
met with injury from me or any of my people 
come up to me in daylight and I will hear your 
grievance then. Trouble, methinks, has bereft 
you of your senses.” 

The calm, indifferent tone in which Duke Peter 
addressed him was a further aggravation to the 
forlorn king. “ Look ! Look ! ” he cried. “ Do 
you not see that I am Jovinian, your master, to 
whose favor you owe the very gems that sparkle 
on your fingers ? ” 

“ A madman’s ravings I Be thankful, my poor 
friend, that your folly has not led you to tell your 
fancies at the King’s throne. You would meet 
with scant consideration there. This silver piece 
will buy you food and clothing on the morrow. 
Take it, and follow my advice: keep beyond 


The Proud King 163 

reach of his Majesty’s officers. They are bound 
to mete out the sorest penalties to one who trifles 
with that august name. Forward, my men.” 

Before he knew what had happened, Jovinian 
was left alone on the highway, holding in his 
feeble grasp the coin that Duke Peter had pressed 
upon him — a coin stamped with his own image, 
sceptred, crowned, and in his royal robes, his 
jeweled feet resting upon a globe, as if to 
show how high he stood above the rest of the 
world. 

The lights of the Duke’s retinue glimmered 
awhile down the road, and then were lost in the 
darkness. Jovinian followed slowly in the same 
direction — why, he could not have told. Each 
step grew feebler ; drowsiness stole over him, 
and he flung himself down in a grassy hollow to 
forget his misery in deep, dreamless sleep. 

At dawn he awakened to very different 
thoughts, as well as in very different surround- 
ings, from those of the preceding morning. His 
first feeling was one of wretchedness, but the 
bright sunshine, the freshness of the air, and the 
fragrance of opening flowers soon bred in him a 
new spirit of hope. He looked around, and saw 
that he was not far from the gates of his royal 
city. Already country folk were astir, bringing 


164 Stories From William Morris 

their goods to market, and as the doors were not 
yet thrown open, a number of wagons had 
gathered under the walls. By hiding now and 
then in the hedgerows to avoid the peasants 
hastening along with baskets of fruit, butter, and 
eggs, he was able to steal up to the gates without 
being seen. At the crowded portals, however, it 
was impossible to escape notice. There was a 
loud outcry against a man coming undressed to 
such a public place. Yet the country folk, with 
all their roughness, were not unkind ; many of 
them took note of Jovinian’s evident distress, and 
judged rightly that his clothes had been lost in 
some untoward accident. An honest fellow 
called him to his wagon, gave him a bowl of 
milk, and bade him jump up and hide amongst 
the piles of cabbages and sweet flowers that he 
was taking to market. 

“ You are bound for the city, if I am not 
mistaken. Whoever you are, and whatever your 
business, you don’t seem over-happy in Adam’s 
garb. Come up beside me, and when you are 
under cover you can tell me your tale.” 

Jovinian settled himself beside the countryman, 
and, fearing that his claims to kingship would 
once more be scoffed at, he began a different 
tale. 


The Proud King 165 

I am a merchant from distant parts. On my 
journey last night I met with thieves, who 
stripped me of purse and all that I had, and now 
I must seek my only friend in this town, a squire 
at the King’s palace. He will be glad, I know, 
to lend me what I ask. Only set me down at the 
palace gates, and I will soon be in a position to 
pay you handsomely for this morning’s kindness. 
Tell me your name, friend, and where you live.” 

“ Christopher-a-Green is my name, and my 
cottage you see across those fields. It’s that little 
bit of garden and orchard that give me the 
second half of my name and the whole of my 
living. Thank God, we have always food enough, 
and we’ve a roof above our heads — though we 
may not be able to keep it there much longer. 
My granddad, you see, built the cottage, and now 
that it has come to need mending my bushes 
seem less inclined than ever to grow gold pieces.” 

“ Wait,” said the pretended merchant — “ wait 
till I have seen my counting-house again, and I 
will show you I am more grateful than your 
bushes for all your attentions.” 

It was not long before the wagon stopped at 
the gates of the palace courtyard, and after wait- 
ing a minute or so, till the place happened to be 
clear of onlookers, Jovinian slipped from the cart. 


i66 Stories From William Morris 


nodded farewell to the countryman, and ran un- 
noticed through the outer court. But troubles 
commenced again when he reached the inner 
gate. A serving-man caught sight of him : 
“ Out ! Out ! ” he shouted. “ Get out of this 
courtyard ! ” 

The King turned at his words. “ Why, my 
good fellow, you are too hasty. Do you not see 
it is your sovereign whom you have addressed ? 
Speed you and bring me robes, and your foolish 
mistake you have just made shall not deprive 
you of a rich reward.” 

“ Madman ! ” ejaculated the servant. “To call 
yourself his gracious Majesty ! The sergeants of 
the guard must take you in hand.” And he 
marched Jovinian to the guard-room. 

Surely amongst his men-at-arms, thought the 
King, some one would have eyes to see his mas- 
ter. But no, not a man knew him in his hapless 
state. They stood around their captive in the 
guard-room, and the more he tried to persuade 
them, the more they ridiculed the idea that he 
was their lord. Despair had seized him when 
two sergeants entered the room. 

“ His Majesty orders us to bring before him the 
man who has so presumptuously used his most 
honoured name.” 


The Proud King 167 

'Tis my last chance,” murmured Jovinian. 
“In my own hall I shall face the Queen and all 
my noblemen. If they will not acknowledge me 
I am forever an outcast.” 

With beating heart he walked between his two 
guards, his hands bound and his head bent down. 
The moment he crossed the threshold of the au- 
dience-hall he raised his eyes to the throne where 
he had so often sat in judgment. Beneath it he 
saw the Queen in her accustomed seat, surrounded 
by ministers of state. But to these he paid no 
heed, for his whole attention was given to a fig- 
ure on the throne. To his unutterable astonish- 
ment he found that his place had been taken by 
another man ! Dressed in Jovinian’s robes, 
crowned, and holding in his hand an ivory sceptre, 
sat a stranger to whom the court was paying full 
reverence. Undoubtedly he was the image of 
their master, yet to Jovinian’s eye alone there 
was one marked difference — the face of the sup- 
planter was strangely bright, and his brow shone 
with a heavenly calm. As the forlorn King stood 
in amazement and dismay before the throne the 
regal figure spoke in clear, stern tones. 

“ Is this the man who has mocked my maj- 
esty ? ” 

Jovinian nerved himself to answer firmly. « I 


l68 Stories From William Morris 

am the true king. Yesterday those lords paid me 
the homage which to-day they are rendering you. 
Yet though the whole world turn against me, 
though all hope of restoration perish, to the end 
of my desolated life I cling to at least my name. 
I am Jovinian the king.” 

Nay,” said the other; “that speech shows 
a fevered mind. Heavy is the penalty you de- 
serve for your pretensions. But before your 
sentence is pronounced, the Queen and the lords 
present shall give their decision as to which of us 
is king. List you, poor madman ; and you, my 
gentlemen, declare your judgment.” 

The courtiers turned unhesitatingly toward 
the throne, bowed low, and together replied : 
“ Hail, King Jovinian ! Long live your Maj- 
esty ! ” 

At the same time the Queen mounted the 
steps of the throne, and knelt to kiss the jeweled 
feet of the man to whom she softly made answer. 
“ My lord, your loving wife knows well that you 
are Jovinian.” 

“You hear these answers,” said the crowned 
stranger to the uncrowned king. “ And now, by 
the laws of our country, we may well put you to 
death. No punishment, however, will be inflicted 
if you straightway own upon your knees that you 


The Proud King i6g 

are a base pretender, and when you cease to call 
yourself king, you shall be given a place among 
our servants.” 

The pallor on Jovinian's face was chased away 
by a sudden rush of color that spread even to 
his brow. 

Nay, nay,” he cried hastily. “ I will meet 
death at your hands rather than yield to your 
rule. I was born to a station high above other 
men, and I scorn to humble myself.” 

The other sat and gazed at him thoughtfully 
for a time. His calm face lost something of its 
sternness, and pity showed itself more plainly 
when at length he broke silence. “ It shall be as 
I have said. You will meet with no punishment 
at our hands, but you must change your vain 
ways of thinking, and learn to live a lowly, sub- 
missive, and right-minded life.” 

In an agony of despair the King glanced round 
the hall, searching for a sign of recognition from 
his courtiers, as he had sought it among his sol- 
diers in the guard-room. A few paces within 
stood his chamberlain, the marshal, and the griz- 
zled captain of the guard, and many another well- 
known lord. But, like the Queen, who hung on 
every word and movement of the King’s person- 
ator, they had turned away, indifferent as to the 


lyo Stories From William Morris 

fate of the poor prisoner, and wholly engaged in 
attending on the occupant of the throne. Yes; 
and as the sergeants prepared to lead their charge 
from the hall, Joyinian’s staghound, his faithful 
follower in the hunt, rose with an angry growl 
from beneath the steps, and would have hurled 
himself upon his old master ha,d not the soldiers 
beat him back. 

“ A fair-weather friend like the others ! ” sighed 
the King. “ Even my dog must fawn upon the 
pretender and show its teeth to its fallen lord.” 

Dazed with his rebuff at the palace, Jovinian 
hardly noticed whither he was led. He passed 
down the familiar streets, which had seen him of 
old returning in triumph from victorious battle. 
Through his mind flashed a picture of these by- 
gone scenes — the glittering lines of mail-clad war- 
riors, the gay balconies crowded with welcoming 
faces, the square gray steeples from which rang 
out glad peals in honor of the hero of the hour, 
King Jovinian, proud, complacent, and invin- 
cible ; to-day an abject outcast, friendless, home- 
less, and despised by the very beggars in the 
street. Oh ! why had Fortune turned against her 
favorite ? 

Outside the city gates the sergeants halted. 

Our orders were to bring you beyond the 


lyi 


The Proud King 

boundaries of the town, and there to set you free ; 
nor must you be seen in the city until you have 
come to your right mind again.” 

Turned adrift in this way, Jovinian wandered 
on by himself as aimlessly as he had done the 
evening before. He had traveled some four or 
five miles, along quiet lanes hedged with sweet- 
scented bushes, when he came to a rippling 
brook, and by its side a rude clay hut. At once 
he recognized the place, and saw that uncon- 
sciously he had turned his steps ih a direction 
they had often taken when he was a young and 
diffident ruler. In those days he used to come 
for counsel and confession to the hermit who 
made this cottage his humble retreat ; in after 
years, as his self-sufficiency and pride developed, 
his visits became less frequent, and of late they 
had entirely ceased. 

“ Will the hermit know who I am ? ” he won- 
dered. Resolving to put it to the test, the King 
knocked at the door of his cottage. 

“ Hail ! friend,” said a kind voice within the 
doorway ; “ tell me what brings you here ? ” 

“ Father,” replied Jovinian faintly, “ look on 
me, and you will see one who has often visited 
you before. I am Jovinian, the king.” 

Nay ; I cannot listen to lying words, such as 


172 Stories From William Morris 

a madman would utter. My counsel is only for 
the humble-minded and penitent ; no jester shall 
come beneath my roof.” And so saying, the her- 
mit closed the door. 

Then suddenly a change came over the King. 
He fell upon his knees, and the tears poured down 
his cheeks, while he cried aloud : 

“ O God, that I should be abandoned by all 
men ! Why am I punished thus ? It is for my 
foolish pride that Heaven has brought me so low. 
In this hermit’s cell I was wonf to confess my 
faults in bygone times, and now what long years 
have passed since last I asked forgiveness here ! 
It was but yesterday I thought that nothing — not 
even Death itself — could overthrow me. To-day 
I see my weakness and all my vanity. Heaven 
help me ! how little I have in myself to be 
proud of ! ” 

His grief prevented Jovinian from seeing that 
the hermit had stolen out to him as he was kneel- 
ing on the threshold. A soft touch on his 
shoulder made him start. 

‘‘ My noble master, my loved son,” said the old 
man, ** how come you here — and why should you 
be in such distress ? ” 

Joy, overpowering joy, took the place of grief 


The Proud King 173 

in the King’s heart, and his eyes shone with new 
gladness. 

Heaven has humbled me because of my sin- 
ful pride. Stripped of my kingship, I can get 
neither wife, lords nor servants to own me. Even 
now, when I came to your hut, you yourself. Fa- 
ther, did not know me. But since you have 
come again to call me by my name, I take it as 
a sign of Heaven’s pardon, and believe that I may 
yet be restored to my throne. Father, will you 
hear my confession, and absolve me? ” 

“ Enter the cell, my son,” answered the other ; 
** your troubles are near an end. I will shrive you 
gladly, provide you with all that my hut affords, 
and set you on your way to regain your royal 
state.” 

The hermit did as he had said. He heard the 
King’s confession, granted him absolution, and 
when his holy offices were discharged, he has- 
tened to bring his royal guest the plain fare that 
he had at hand. His gentle counsel fell on atten- 
tive ears, and when at last he told the King that 
it was time he should retrace his steps to the pal- 
ace, Jovinian rose comforted and strengthened to 
greater endurance. 

“ I shall seek my kingdom, dressed in your 


174 Stories From William Morris 

rough raiment, Father, and mounted on your ass. 
It shall be a token of the humility in which you 
have wrapped my soul.” And with cheerful face 
the King rode off at eventide towards the town. 

In passing the city gates he saw one of the 
warders, who stood by the entrance, sign to his 
fellow through the dusk, and heard him whisper : 
“ The King ! But no salute ! He left orders 
that if he rode in disguise through the town to- 
night we should not do him reverence.” 

This chance whisper eased Jovinian's anxiety, 
and still more, did he rejoice as he made his way 
to the palace, to see many of his people glance re- 
spectfully at his monk-like figure. Though, like 
the warders, they refrained from a salute, it was 
clear that they had recognized their master. In 
the palace, however, there was no constraint laid 
upon the servants ; each man he met bowed hum- 
bly before the King. The old order prevailed 
again ; and never had his subjects’ homage seemed 
so pleasing to Jovinian as this summer evening, 
after he had been deprived of their respect for 
more than a whole day. 

A squire came up to deliver a message that the 
Queen was awaiting her lord, as he had requested, 
in the Little Hall. 

“ Heaven aids me in my return,” said the King 



“THY PLACE I HAVE TAKEN FOR A DAY, 
(From a drawing by G. D. Hammond.) 




>75 


The Proud King 

to himself ; “ and if it is God’s will, the stranger 
who wore my crown this morning will also 
acknowledge my rights, and yield me the 
throne.” 

He entered the Little Hall ; and there he found 
his queen fast asleep, her silk-threaded needle in 
her hand, and a piece of broidery fallen from her 
lap to the floor. 

By her side stood he who had played the 
King’s part that day. He appeared the perfect 
image of Jovinian in his royal dress, but just as 
the King was stepping forward to accost him 
sternly, a change passed over him, and he ap- 
peared no longer human. His face shone brightly • 
white robes, rich with embroidered wreaths of 
flowers, fell down to his feet, and from his shoul- 
ders sprang two wings of lovely and varying 
hues. 

Shrink not before me,” were the words the 
King heard. “ Often ere now have I hovered by 
thy side, though thou knewest it not. Thy place 
I have taken for a day, that thou mightest learn 
how feeble is thy power, how small a thing the 
sovereignty thou boastedst. Thou hast seen now 
that in a moment God can lay low the proudest 
monarch upon earth. And yet thou thoughtest 
thyself too strong to be moved even by death ? 


176 Stories From William Morris 

“ Thy lesson is over ; thank Heaven that a few 
hours’ distress has taught thee wisdom for the 
rest of thy happy reign. Save the holy hermit, 
no one knows of thy punishment, but all will see 
thy new gentleness in future, and will bless thy 
changed nature.” 

The great outspread wings trembled for an in- 
stant before Jovinian’s dazed eyes, then with 
a parting gleam of rainbow colors they bore away 
the guardian angel. 

The King stood still, musing over the strange 
events of the two last days, until the Queen, 
awakening from her deep sleep, rose with a smile 
to greet him, and inquire if he would not throw 
off his disguise and meet his lords at the banquet. 
And so it came about that at the close of day 
Jovinian found himself clothed once again in his 
royal dress and throned amongst his nobles. He 
had no need to dread the gossip of the court 
about the “ mad creature ” who that morning had 
declared himself king : the matter was so trifling 
that it was already forgotten. None of his suite 
could have believed that they had not had their 
master in their midst since they returned from 
the hunt, and save perhaps that he was gentler in 
manner there was nothing outwardly to mark 
a difference in the King. Yet to Jovinian him- 


177 


The Proud King 

self it seemed that he was another man from the 
haughty ruler of two days ago, so fervently he 
now hated the pride which he had then harbored 
in his heart. 

For many long years he lived to make his 
kingdom a pleasanter home for his people ; and, 
that the country might not suffer again from a 
sovereign’s arrogance, shortly before he came to 
die he called a clerk to take down in writing the 
story of his punishment to serve as a warning to 
future kings. 

“ The good hermit who alone knew of what 
befell me that summer’s day has long been dead, 
and the secret of my repentance will die with me 
unless it is now heard from my lips. Then take 
up your pen, my scribe, and write me the tale of 
the misery through which I learned the grace of 
true humility.” 


The Story of Acontius and Cydippe 

I T was on a spring-tide long, long years ago 
that there happened in the island of Delos 
what still happens any day of the year, and 
in any corner of the earth, — a young man fell in 
love with a maid. 

The man, Acontius by name, was on a voyage 
through the Greek seas when he and his com- 
panions, casting anchor in a pleasant bay, came 
ashore, and sat down to enjoy themselves beneath 
the budding white-thorns of a little grove close 
to the main town. There, while he was idly 
singing of love and spring-time, Acontius caught 
a first glimpse of the young girl to whom he 
soon gave his whole heart. She flitted past him 
in the midst of a band of maidens who were on 
their way to the temple of Diana ; but hers was 
the only face that he noticed, so little did any 
other interest him in comparison with her sweet- 
ness. From that morning his thoughts were all 
centred upon her, and the happiest moments 
that he knew were when he met her, knee-deep 
amongst the tulips of the garden where she wan- 
178 


Acontius and Cydippe 179 

dered at sunrise, or walking at noon with her 
girl friends toward the house of the old priestess 
who instructed them in the service of Diana. 
Sometimes he fancied that she felt his love ; at 
other times he was tormented by the thought 
that he might never be able to win her heart. 

Day after day passed, and while his footsteps 
always turned to the town where he might see 
the maid, his comrades found little, for their part, 
to bind them to the island, and therefore deter- 
mined to set sail ere long. Acontius, however, 
could not bear the thought of leaving Delos. 
Afraid to confide the story of his love-sickness to 
his rollicking shipmates, he stole away from them 
without a word of explanation, and found refuge 
in a little white cottage low amongst the rocks 
by the seaside. There a kindly fisherman housed 
him quietly until his friends, despairing of his re- 
appearance, sailed away without him. Although 
he did not speak of the subject he had most at 
heart, the old fisherman with whom he lived 
guessed why he was lingering on the island, and 
thought it well one evening to warn his guest of 
the fate that threatened the very girl whom he 
wished to marry. 

“ Cydippe ” — it was the first time Acontius had 
heard her name, and the sound of it thrilled his 


l8o Stories From William Morris 


heart — Cydippe has great need to find a lover 
this summer-time/’ said the fisherman as uncon- 
cernedly as though he had no idea that his hearer 
was interested in the gossip of the place. 
‘‘ When August comes round her mother pro- 
poses to bind the maid to serve in Diana’s 
temple, and remain unwed all her days. She 
will have to vow that she will never marry, and 
to my mind it is a pity that the pretty young 
thing should not make some man happy by be- 
coming his bride.” 

These careless words about Cydippe were as a 
death-knell to all the hopes that Acontius had 
been nursing in his breast. He asked himself 
wildly what he could do to win the maiden, but, 
alas ! he could find no answer to his questionings. 
Even when he dreamed one day that the Queen 
of Love came and smiled upon him it brought 
him little comfort, for he judged it ill-omened 
that she should appear beside him empty-handed 
and without a word of advice or consolation to a 
troubled lover such as he was. 

Slowly the weeks of summer went past until 
August arrived, and the day broke when Cydippe 
was to vow lifelong service to Diana as her un- 
wed priestess. Acontius had determined that he 
would not remain another day upon the island 


Acontius and Cydippe l8i 

after his beloved made her vows to the goddess. 
He gave the honest fisherman a good sum of 
gold in return for his hospitality, and bade him 
farewell, the evening before the eventful day, in 
a cheerless voice that betrayed his misery and 
broken-heartedness. At daybreak he arose, red- 
eyed and melancholy, reproaching himself wearily 
because that, with all his brooding, he had been 
unable to find any way of preventing Cydippe 
from entering the service of Diana. As the dedi- 
cation of the young girl at the temple was not to 
take place until midday, he had still some hours 
to pass before he should walk into town ; for, 
heart-breaking though the sight would be, he was 
resolved to attend the ceremony, and watch his 
beloved seal her fate. In the sunshine of the 
early morning he flung himself down beneath an 
apple-tree whose fruit hung heavy upon its 
boughs, while here and there upon the grass a 
rosy apple lay smiling upward at its fellows as if 
it were well pleased it had dropped from the 
parent branch before them. In this shady nook 
poor, heavy-hearted Acontius fell asleep, to dream 
that the Queen of Love was approaching him, 
with Cydippe, shy and beautiful, by her side. 
Alas ! as he awoke the thought of his coming 
loss swept over him, and filled him with despair. 


i 82 Stories From William Morris 


He lay open-eyed, grieving for Cydippe, and as 
his mind dwelt upon her, he laid his hand upon a 
large, smooth-skinned apple that gleamed in the 
green grass beside him, and with a sharp thorn 
he idly traced in Greek letters upon one side of 
the fruit the words which he would dearly have 
liked to hear from his sweetheart’s lips : Acontius 
will I wed to-day. Ah ! the Queen of Love had 
in truth come to the rescue when she prompted 
him to trace these few words upon the apple and 
store it beneath his cloak ! 

Midday came round, and Acontius was at the 
temple of Diana, pressing close to the steps where 
Cydippe would presently mount to the altar. 
A great crowd had gathered to hear the vows 
which the maiden was to make in public ; rich 
sacrifices had been offered, and songs had been 
sung in praise of the goddess. A blare of 
trumpets sounded the approach of the band of 
maidens who walked in front of Cydippe and her 
mother, the chief figures in the solemnities of the 
day. The girl came forward, pale, and very 
mournful. It was clear that her vow to remain 
for life an unwed priestess of Diana was to be 
taken not of her own choice, but solely to con- 
tent her stern and haughty mother, who was bent 


Acontius and Cydippe 183 

upon winning honor by making Cydippe one of 
the foremost priestesses in the land. 

Acontius held his breath as mother and 
daughter drew near. The Queen of Love, when 
she moved him to write upon her sacred fruit, 
had inspired him with a hope that he might yet 
alter the maiden’s lot. There was but one mo- 
ment in which to make his attempt. Cydippe 
was mounting the steps slowly, her mother hav- 
ing drawn back into the throng of onlookers, and 
as she passed the spot where Acontius was stand- 
ing, he seized his opportunity, drew out the ap- 
ple which he bore be;;ieath his cloak, and flung it 
into the folds of the maiden’s gown. Seeing at 
once who had cast the fruit she flushed deep- red, 
and clasped it in her hand. Did she who had 
breathed her inspiration into the mind of Acontius, 
complete her kindly aid by whispering to Cydippe 
the use to which she should put her lover’s gift ? 
Surely the Queen of Love directed her, for the 
young girl walked firmly up the remaining steps, 
and when she reached the altar she spoke never 
a word, but laid the apple down, and fixed her 
eyes prayerfully upon the cold statue of Diana, as 
though she would move the goddess to pity. 

Her mother hastened up to her, surprised that 
she had not uttered her vows. 


184 Stories From William Morris 

“ Have you made your promises to the god- 
dess, child ? ” she asked. “ I did not hear you 
speak. And what is that you have laid upon the 
altar ? 

Cydippe answered her so clearly that Acontius, 
standing a little distance below, heard her words. 

“ I have made no spoken vow, mother. I came 
here meaning, as you know, to pledge my days to 
Diana, although I would fain have chosen another 
lot. And now I declare before Heaven that the 
writing upon this apple shall be my solemn vow. 
I have neither written nor read the words, yet 
they shall make known my choice.” 

With trembling hands and a frown upon her 
proud face, the dame picked up the apple, and 
read her daughter’s vow upon it : Acontius will 
I wed to-day ! In great agitation she brushed 
past Cydippe to consult the priests about the ex- 
traordinary turn that matters had taken. Then 
a heated discussion arose, and some of the priests 
said that the maid should be free to fulfil the dec- 
laration written upon the apple, while the others 
insisted that it was too late for her to turn away 
from the service of the goddess. 

But all the time that the graybeards were 
wrangling, the bystanders, who had learned of the 
strange happening, had likewise been talking it 


Acontius and Cydippe 185 

over, and they were all agreed that the lovers 
ought to be allowed to wed. To this unanimous 
opinion they gave voice so loudly that the priests, 
seeing that it could not well be disregarded, 
eventually gave their verdict to the same effect. 
The last person to yield her assent was Cydippe's 
mother, and even she was in the end content with 
the decision when she heard the cry of joyous 
rapture with which the two young people 
hastened from the temple of the stern Goddess 
Diana to fulfil the vow engraven upon the apple 
the fruit that has always been sacred to the Queen 
of Love. 


Ogier the Dane 


W HAT nobler vassal had good Charle- 
maine than Ogier, mightiest of the 
Danes, and most chivalrous of all 
knights ? For many a generation after he had 
passed away, minstrels sang of his exploits : how, 
given as a hostage to the Frankish Emperor, in 
time he came to bear the Oriflamme against the 
paynims, fought hand-to-hand with Caraheu,and 
had slain base Chariot, had not I^eaven bade him 
stay his hand. Denmark was his ; he wore the 
crown of Britain ; he stormed the great town of 
Babylon, waged war in Palestine for the Holy 
Cross, and ruled in Tyre. 

The record of these deeds is a gallant tale, but 
more wondrous is the story Nicholas the Breton 
once related of Ogier. He spoke of how Morgan 
le Fay bore the hero to Avallon, when all his 
wars seemed ended, and of what came to pass 
thereafter. 

Hearken, and judge of the marvel for your- 
selves. 


i86 


Ogier the Dane 187 

The chill air that breathes just before daybreak 
crept in at the half-opened casements of a room 
where Death held sway. The fair young Queen 
of Denmark lay dead ; around her head flickered 
the hallowed tapers that the watchers kept ever 
burning. The King, grieving sore for his dear 
wife, had knelt all night long by her bedside in an 
agony of voiceless despair ; while at the far end 
of the chamber, the nurses bent over the cradle 
of the new-born prince, from time to time 
whispering to one another memories of the grace 
and kindliness of their late mistress. 

One of the women had crossed the floor on 
tiptoe to replace a taper that had burned low in 
its socket. Her hand was resting on the candle 
when a sudden tremor passed through her limbs, 
her eyelids drooped, and she lost all conscious- 
ness in a trance that was deep as the Queen's 
sleep of death. What befell the one nurse befell 
the others at the same moment. The King also 
came under the spell ; his wan, drawn face re- 
laxed, his eyes closed, and the desolate mourner 
forgot his woes for a little while in this strange, 
heavy sleep. 

But now the deathlike stillness was broken by 
the sound of light footsteps on the staircase, 
muffled in the sweep of long silken robes. 


i88 Stories From William Morris 


Noiselessly the door of the bed chamber swung 
open, admitting a breath of sweet odor, more 
fragrant than the scent which was rising to the 
windows from rose and lily in the gardens below. 
In the doorway stood a group of fay ladies like a 
cluster of bright flowers in sunshine. Crowned 
they were, each with a circlet of gems, and their 
loose-flowing raiment shone with heavenly hues 
that seemed to light up the spot where they 
stood. 

One by one they stepped daintily across the 
room to the infant’s cradle, there to whisper over 
the little Prince of Denmark the promise of a 
fairy gift. The first to hail him was Gloriande, 
and the gift she bestowed was courage and stead- 
fastness. “ Thou shalt be a true knight,” she 
whispered ; “ thine honor shall be stainless ; and 
in upholding the right, thou shalt be alike fearless 
and unwearied.” 

The second fay advanced, a glorious vision of 
brightness, her head crowned with blood-red 
rubies, and a tunic of golden mail upon her 
breast. “ War and strife I promise thee,” she 
said sternly ; “ throughout thy long life, warfare 
unending, that so thou mayst win martial fame 
amongst men, and gain Heaven’s blessing by 
conflict with the paynim.” 


Ogier the Dane 189 

These words were barely uttered when another 
of the group raised her voice, and smilingly took 
up the war maiden’s rede. “ To that I add a 
little gift to sweeten thy labor. I give thee vic- 
tory in every struggle. Whoso thy foe, thou 
shalt ever be conqueror.” 

The fourth followed with the gift of courtesy 
and gentle speech. Then came a gray-eyed fay, 
with parted lips and a rosy blush overspreading 
her cheek as she promised the Prince the love of 
fair women and the power of winning their hearts. 

The last to glide to the boy’s cradle was the 
most lovely of the band. She stood a while gaz- 
ing down on him, then tenderly she whispered : 
“ Ogier, the gift I give thee is mine own love. 
Not while thou art in the heat of strife, but at the 
close of thy warfare, thou shalt see me and re- 
joice in my gift. Till then, Ogier my love, fare- 
well.” 

Then, softly as they had come, the fairy visit- 
ants stole from the palace to the shore, where 
the waves were breaking in silver ripples on the 
sand. A moment they paused in silence, their 
faces turned toward the west ; a moment later and 
they had vanished, leaving the still slumbering 
palace unwitting of their visit to little Ogier's 
cradle. 


IQO Stories From William Morris 

Now as to Ogier’s long and honorable life, 
we must pass it over, strange though that appear 
when Ogier himself is our hero ! 

He was, as the world knows, a generous 
knight, unsurpassed in valor, upright, and greatly 
beloved by his people. The heathen hordes 
dreaded to meet him in battle; the evil-doer 
shuddered beneath his glance. In warfare and in 
the ruling of his lands he was ever happy ; but 
through the love he bore wife and child, grief no 
less than joy, fell to his lot. He early lost 
Bellisande, his sweet wife, and his only child, 
Baldwin, a winsome bright-eyed lad of great 
promise, was put to death by the evil-minded 
Chariot. But even these sorrows did not quench 
his spirit ; bravely he toiled on to a ripe old age, 
and to the end of his days, Ogier was ever the 
same stout-hearted warrior. 

In the cloudless western sky the sun is sinking 
softly below the horizon, but over in the east 
there is an angry look on heaven’s face. Great 
masses of steel-gray cloud, stained red round the 
edges by the glow of sunset, are lowering above 
an ocean of tossing waves that change in color 
from a glittering silver to green, gray, and sombre 
black. No wind ruffles the sea this evening, yet 



OGIER KNELT DOWN TO THANK GOD 
(From a drawinjf by G. D. riammond.) 





Af *-m 



'» < 



Ogier the Dane 191 

the billows, like a great army in rout, are tumb- 
ling and surging wildly as though they would 
dash down the barrier of bare brown rock which 
rises sharply in their path. This rugged island 
is the fatal Loadstone Rock, shunned in holy 
terror by every seaman. On winter nights, when 
snugly seated by the fireside, the old sailors may 
tell the strange rumors they have heard of the 
Rock, but he who nears it, will never return home 
to tell his own tale. The ship that tries to pass, 
is drawn to destruction against its magnetic cliffs, 
and the crew, if not sucked beneath the waters, 
die ere long of starvation upon its barren heights. 

To-night there is a living man upon the Rock. 
The sun sets upon the wreckage and bleached 
bones around him, and while the moon rises to 
throw her cold white light upon the scene, the 
lonely figure sits undismayed, awaiting sure 
death. He is an old man, nobly built ; his hair 
is white, his face furrowed by age, but yet his 
kingly robes — now tarnished by the salt waves — 
are borne on shoulders quite erect, and his voice 
is still fresh and vigorous as he speaks his 
thoughts. 

“For a man of my many years, my strength 
has stood me well. ’Tis seven weeks since our 
boat was cast on this rock, five days since the 


ig2 Stories From William Morris 

last of the crew died with our last crumb of bread 
between his lips, and still I am alive. If God had 
not willed me to die here, I had had strength 
enough to end my days, sword in hand, upon the 
field of battle. How glorious to have drawn my 
last breath beneath the banner that waved our 
challenge to the paynim foe ! 

“ Thou must find thee another leader, Charle- 
maine, to take my place and drive back these 
heathen bands from the fair land of France, for 
never more shalt thou see me take the field. 
Ah, never didst thou guess that Ogier’s bones 
would rest upon a lonely sea-girt rock ! And 
yet this death, so different from what he hoped to 
meet, grieves not thine ancient knight now that 
he sees it close at hand.” And Ogier knelt down 
to thank God in simple words for thus ordering 
his end. 

As night darkened, he fell into a deep slumber, 
from which he awoke before dawn ; but the dark- 
ness that still overhung land and sea was sud- 
denly dispelled by an unlooked for light which 
broke upon his eyes ere he had been long awake, 
and which steadily increased in ruddy brightness, 
while at the same time his ears caught the sound 
of sweet music. 

This is the dawning,” he murmured, not of 


Ogier the Dane 193 

an earthly day, but of eternity. Death steals 
upon me ; how pleasant, how gentle its ap- 
proach ! ” 

Just then he fancied his name was whispered 
through the air. Taking it to be a summons, he 
rose and crossed the island toward the east, 
whence the voice seemed to have come, and from 
where the light was still streaming. 

The music had ceased, and the rays were 
already growing somewhat dim, yet across the 
sea, as he raised his eyes eagerly to the east, he 
could descry a shining palace of gold in the 
midst of green lawns and shady groves of trees ! 
But even as he gazed upon the scene, the light 
faded, the palace was lost in the darkness, and 
sea and sky became alike gray as the night 
around. 

Imagining that the vision and the semblance 
of music had arisen from his own worldly 
thoughts, he sat down to turn his mind resolutely 
toward graver concerns ; but the pulse of life 
beat stronger and stronger in his veins, and after 
trying for some time to centre his thoughts on 
approaching death, he gave up the effort, and 
started instead to climb down the rocky eastern 
side of his prison, whither he felt drawn in search 
of further revelations. 


194 Stories From William Morris 

It was no easy task to swing himself from 
ledge to ledge, hanging, sometimes by one hand 
alone, above the sea which foamed far below. 
In time, however, he safely reached the base of 
the rock, where the only foothold was upon the 
wrecks, which the angry billows dashed cease- 
lessly to and fro against the fatal magnet cliffs. 
From one piece of floating timber to another, he 
leaped out toward the east, until he reached the 
outermost wreck, where, steadying himself against 
the rush of the sea and the blinding dash of 
spray, he stood with his good sword Courtain in 
his grasp, expectant only of death. 

At that moment he heard again a strain of 
music floating through the air, and a bright speck 
of light appeared moving on the ocean toward him, 
rapidly growing in size until he saw it was a gilded 
boat. His first thought, that this was another 
wreck to be added to those already drawn to the 
Rock, was soon disproved, for although unguided 
by human hand, it steered its course unerringly 
through the troubled seas and drew up safely by 
the wreck where Ogier was standing. Believing 
that, whatever its course, it was intended to bear 
him from the island, he sheathed his sword 
Courtain, and stepped into the skiff. There was 
neither oar nor rudder in the little boat, but 


Ogier the Dane 195 

oarsman and helmsman were not wanted, for no 
sooner had the old knight seated himself amongst 
the cushions in the stern than the skiff shot 
lightly from the Rock ; and he, giving way to 
overpowering sleep, knew nothing more of his 
passage. 

When he awoke it was to find the boat lying 
moored in a shaded nook at the edge of a quiet 
stretch of water. He sprang ashore and, half- 
alarmed by the rare beauty of the place, drew his 
sword and murmured a holy prayer ; yet as he 
went forward a step or two, his fears that it might 
be an unhallowed spot vanished, and he fancied 
he had come to Paradise. The meadows bore a 
wealth of gay flowers, the air was soft and birds 
sang sweetly from blossom-laden trees. The 
loveliness of the scene, however, was presently 
dulled to his senses by a new feeling of feeble- 
ness. His limbs grew stiff, each step was taken 
with greater difficulty; his eyes were dim and 
even his memory was failing, for he could not re- 
call whence he had come, or aught of his past 
life. His growing weakness he took calmly. It 
was the hand of death upon him, he supposed, 
and he was well content to have it so, since he 
was already in Paradise. Slowly he wandered 
down a green alley until he reached a wicket-gate 


ig6 Stories From William Morris 

opening on the fairest of gardens ; then, turning 
fainter, he staggered to a fountain over which 
two white-thorns shed their blossoms, while close 
by sounded the minstrelsy that he had heard 
faintly on the isle. Here he sank down uncon- 
scious, and all his thoughts melted to heavenly 
dreams. Through these dreams came the mur- 
mur of a sweet voice ; Ogier, Ogier, how long 
thou hast been in coming ! ” 

Fancying himself in heaven, he strove to an- 
swer as though he were addressed by his great 
Master. 

“ Nay, nay,” said the voice, “ not yet art thou 
in Paradise, Ogier. Long may it be ere thou 
goest on that last journey, now that thou hast 
reached me, mine own love ! Ah ! at length the 
happy day has come when I may give thee again 
the beauty and freshness of youth, and fit thee to 
enjoy the love thou didst gain from me even in 
thy cradle, long years ago.” 

Life seemed ebbing fast from him as he strug- 
gled to shake off the feeling of some one touch- 
ing his forehead and calling him sweet names. 
Was it the shade of his young wife (her very name 
now lost to him) who, years past, had gone to her 
rest beneath the hawthorns of God’s-acre in old 
St. Omer ? Was this a troubled dream of things 


Ogier the Dane 197 

past that haunted him in the shadow of 
death ? 

No, it was not so. Once again he swooned, 
but ere consciousness left him, he felt the soft 
pressure of a living hand and knew that a ring had 
been slipped upon his finger. 

His eyes opened on the same scene — with 
what a difference ! No longer was his body weak 
or his mind frail as an old man’s. The strength 
of youth was within him ; he was entering on 
a new life. 

At the first glance he thought the garden un- 
changed, but, as he looked around him a second 
time, he saw that it now held in its midst a lady 
whose marvelous beauty enhanced ten times the 
charm of the scene. So young she seemed that 
he would have thought her a maiden in her teens, 
but that her glorious eyes were filled with the 
wisdom of more than a mortal lifetime. Her rai- 
ment matched her loveliness. The finest cloudy 
veilings fell to her sandals where jewels gleamed 
against her snowy feet ; a ruby shone like a star 
upon her breast, and her golden locks were 
wreathed with sweetest rosebuds. 

Ogier had sprung to his feet, and as she moved 
toward him, her eyes seeking his, and her arms 


198 Stories From William Morris 

outstretched in welcome, he faltered out a ques- 
tion as to where he stood, and in whose presence. 

The fair one answered : “ Thou hast come to 

Avallon to dwell with me, Morgan le Fay, whose 
love was pledged to thee whilst thou wast yet an 
infant in the Danish palace.” She told of how 
she had visited his cradle with her sister fays those 
many years ago. “ Yet am I young as then, for 
our youth is eternal ; and now that thou art in 
Avallon, thou shalt be young and changeless 
too. See, I shall show thee the charm by which 
thou hast been restored to the strength of early 
manhood.” 

She pointed, as she spoke, to a heavy gold 
ring with curious figures traced upon it, which 
now encircled one of Ogier’s fingers, and told 
how, when she had placed it there a little while 
ago, the marks of old age had straightway van- 
ished from his form. “ So long as thou wearest 
it,” she said, “ death will not touch thee.” 

At first, overcome by the fay’s beauty, he had 
been enraptured with his new surroundings, but 
soon a great longing for his old life of warfare 
upon earth swept over him, and he felt that all be- 
fore him was dreamlike, dreary and unreal. 
Morgan read his thoughts, and with a smile 
linked her hand in his, and drew him toward 


199 


Ogier the Dane 

the castle beyond her fay gardens. “ Come^ 
love,” she whispered, “ our life is fairer than that 
earthly one for which thou mournest. Thou wilt 
be happy, aye, radiantly happy, when thou hast 
forgotten thy stormy past. Bethink thee how 
thou wouldst even now have been dead, had not 
I slipped the ring upon thy finger and so kept 
life within thee. Will thou not give me thy love 
in return for mine already given?” 

Across the daisied grass they had passed to 
a doorway in the castle, round which clustered 
a group of fair maids singing joyous welcome to 
Ogier and strewing flowers upon the way. 
Through long, cool corridors they came at length 
to a throne placed at the end. of a hall, and there, 
when Morgan had led' the hero up the steps, 
a young girl advanced from the band, and laid at 
his feet a golden crown. This Morgan placed 
upon his head, bidding him, in gentle words, for- 
get the world and rise to enjoy the new life in 
Avallon. At the magic touch of the Crown of 
Forgetfulness his last regrets vanished ; the past 
was blotted out, and all he knew was that he had 
now a share in the joys of a wondrous glad and 
peaceful country. No trouble henceforth met 
him in Avallon, where base or mischief-making 
men were unknown ; only the noble-hearted 


200 Stories From William Morris 

(whom men thought dead) were borne like Ogier 
from earthly seas to these pain-forgetting shores, 
where all was happiness and content. 

A hundred years had passed since the aged Ogier 
had been last seen upon earth. In those hun- 
dred years many a change had befallen the lands 
in which he had dwelt, and in France, unhappily^ 
these changes had all been for the worse. A cruel, 
lingering war oppressed her sorely ; the heathen 
foe once more overran the land, besieging cities 
and laying waste the fertile country. 

At the gates of Paris, one spring day, stood 
crowds of anxious folk pressing round each horse- 
man who rode up to the city walls, and question- 
ing him eagerly of the progress of the foe. Was 
Harfleur still safe ? Did Andelys stand in need 
of help? And was it true that the Pont de 
TArche had been burned down ? To these and 
such-like questions each newcomer gave a differ- 
ent answer, and the crowd turned from him im- 
patiently to waylay the next traveler. 

Toward sundown a party of three rode up to 
the gates. Two serving-men followed their mas- 
ter, their eyes fixed on him with doubt and awe, 
as though striving to determine in what way he 
differed from other men. He was apparently 


201 


Ogier the Dane 

quite young, for though his face was bronzed, it 
was still fresh and unfurrowed ; his bright golden 
hair and gray eyes were as a boy’s, and the look 
on his face was radiant as an angel’s. In height 
he far surpassed the men around him, his giant- 
like form rendering more conspicuous the old- 
fashioned dress and armor which he wore. 

The warders examined his pass, and asked his 
name and from what city he came. The Ancient 
Knight, he replied, was the name people gave 
him in St. Omer, the town he had just left. 
Then, heedless of the questions showered on him, 
as on all the other wayfarers, he stared pityingly 
at the sergeants before him. 

“ Saint Mary ! ” said he, “ if that is all the stat- 
ure ye reach nowadays, ’tis no wonder the pagans 
are victorious ! When the Hammer-bearer took 
the field, his men were of a different pattern ! ” 

His words savored so strangely of bygone 
times that the group around him ceased their talk, 
and gazed in wonder at the speaker. A mock- 
ing laugh broke the silence. “ Charlemaine has 
risen from the tomb to save our city ! ” cried 
a voice in the crowd. 

At the name of Charlemaine the horseman 
started in his saddle, knit his brow and seemed as 
though he would speak. No words, however, 


202 Stories From William Morris 


came to his lips, and gathering up the reins with 
a sigh he rode onward to the city. 

The Ancient Knight was none other than 
Ogier, and his return from Avallon was on this 
wise. 

One day Morgan le Fay approached him, and 
told how France was suffering from the onset of 
fierce tribes whom none could drive back. 
Would he don his armor and champion the cause 
of that Christian country, she asked him, if, under 
a spell, he were borne back to the world which 
he had left a hundred years ago ? So long as he 
wore the magic ring, he could not suffer death 
nor lose his youthfulness ; and once the pagans 
were subdued, he would be wafted, as before, to 
Avallon, his fame immeasurably increased by this 
new exploit. 

To Morgan’s proposal Ogier gave willing as- 
sent. Beneath her potent spell he fell into 
a trance during which the mysterious voyage was 
accomplished, and he awakened to find himself 
on the Flemish coast ; thence journeying to St. 
Omer, the town he knew so well in the old days, 
he had ridden through the desolated country to 
join the forces that were mustering in Paris. 

His antique dress and old-world talk had 


Ogier the Dane 203 

roused as much wonder in the country roads as 
at the gates of Paris, though the simple peasants 
were less apt to mock at his appearance than 
were the quick-witted townsmen. But if the 
French folk thought it strange to see a man of 
his stamp in their midst, it was stranger for Ogier 
himself to visit old haunts peopled with a new 
generation. The memory of Avallon had grown 
dim, and all his thoughts were given to the world 
in which he moved again. 

Now, the King of PTance lay besieged by the 
enemy at Rouen, in dire need of help from his 
capital. When Ogier entered Paris he learned 
that the Queen was holding a muster of troops in 
the square before her palace, and that many 
knights had gathered to swear fealty, and march, 
at her orders, to relieve Rouen. Accordingly he 
made his way to the palace, joined the crowd of 
soldiers, and awaited his turn to approach the 
Queen, who, beneath a royal canopy in the open 
square, was receiving the oaths of fealty from 
eager lips. 

At length his turn came, and he knelt before 
a handsome woman, tall and dark-haired, whose 
eyes lit up with surprise and approval as she saw 
his striking carriage. His homage was paid in 
the courtly style of a past century. Then as he 


204 Stories From William Morris 

rose^ the Queen inquired his name and from what 
country he had come. Once again he replied 
that men called him the Ancient Knight ; as to 
his home, it was so long since he had left it, to 
take up his abode in a far country, that he had 
no recollection of it whatever. That answer made 
the Queen the more curious to discover the mys- 
tery of this old-world young knight, but as there 
was then no leisure for talk, she bade a page con- 
duct him to the palace, where he should have re- 
freshment, and await her coming. She wished, 
said she, to appoint him to some command, and 
to give him his orders that same day. 

So Ogier followed the page through a postern 
gate by which he had often entered the palace in 
Charlemaine’s time. The coat-of-arms above the 
doorway, which he well remembered looking 
fresh and gay in those days, was now so faded and 
weather-'Stained that the young page paused to 
point it out to the stranger as a quaint and in- 
teresting relic of the past ! No wonder Ogier felt 
as though he were in a dream, and would presently 
awaken to find himself among the familiar faces 
of his early days, or perchance alone on the fatal 
Loadstone Rock ! 

After a light meal in the hall, he wandered out 
of doors to the gardens, past merry groups of 


205 


Ogier the Dane 

squires and gay ladies, until, finding a quiet spot 
beyond the sound of play and laughter, he lay 
down to rest, and soon lost himself in dreams. 

Still slumbering, he was found by the Queen, 
who, having dispatched her affairs of state in the 
public square, came through the gardens, accom- 
panied by an elderly dame of honor. Her eyes 
wandered admiringly over his outstretched form, 
and with a smile she remarked that the name 
given to him was ill-suited to such a handsome 
young knight. 

“ Ah, my lady,” said the dame, shaking her 
head distrustfully, “ I fear there is some dark 
mystery about him. The squire who took him 
to the palace says he kept questioning him of 
men who had been dead these fifty years or 
more. And look how old a fashion he shows in 
his armor! God grant he is not a spirit of evil 
come to lead us into greater trouble ! That ring, 
engraven with strange figures, is doubtful sign of 
his good faith.” And even as the Queen was 
striving to reassure her, the old dame stooped 
down, and deftly slipped the ring off his finger. 

Instantly his golden hair changed to white, his 
face grew wrinkled, and, amidst other marks of 
old age, his breathing became hard and gasping. 
His eyes half opened, but his lips were too feeble 


2o6 Stories From William Morris 

to frame words ; he could only move one hand 
slightly, as if groping for the lost ring. 

The Queen grew pale with terror when she saw 
this change pass over the young and handsome 
knight. The tears coursed down her cheeks, for 
she could not endure to see him growing gray 
and cold, as if the hand of death were already on 
his heart. Her old attendant, on the contrary, 
showed neither dismay nor pity. She handed 
the ring to her mistress, saying that it was indeed 
a treasure, since the wearer of it would ever re- 
main young. But the Queen would not keep it, 
tempting prize though it was. To the indigna- 
tion of the cruel old dame, she knelt over the 
knight, and whispering, “ Ah, wilt not thou think 
kindly of me if I restore thee this magic ring ?" 
she hastily thrust it upon his finger, in the hope 
that it might yet be in time to save his life. 

As quickly as strength had ebbed, so fast did 
it flow back to Ogier. In a moment he sprang 
to his feet, fresh, youthful, and handsome as be- 
fore, looking around him with dazed eyes, that 
showed he had newly awakened from dreams and 
did not understand the reason of the Queen’s pal- 
lor and her troubled looks. She, hiding her 
anxiety, smiled, and chided him playfully for 


Ogier the Dane 207 

sleeping whilst other men were fighting for the 
cause of France. 

“ Nay, Queen,” said he ; “ I would far sooner 
meet thy foeman than be confronted with such 
dreams of old age and misery as have come to 
me in my sleep this afternoon.” 

With a sudden blush that made her look the 
lovelier in Ogier’s eyes, she cried : “ Ah, if 
dreams beset such a mighty man as thou, then 
it is pardonable that they also visit a frail woman 
like me ! ’Twas but last night I dreamed that 
enthroned before our people sat a king of France 
whose face was strange to me ; to-day I know it 
to have been thine.” 

From the way in which the Queen spoke, 
Ogier saw that she thought him worthy of every 
honor, and he, in return, felt deeply grateful for 
her trust, and longed to prove that it was well 
placed in him. 

Together they walked to the council-room, 
leaving behind them the dame of honor, who was 
muttering her disgust at the turn events had 
taken, and vowing that if ever she had the chance 
of regaining the ring, she would not again part 
with it so easily. 

Ogier had not long to wait an opportunity of 


2o8 Stories From William Morris 


serving in the field. In the council- room he gave 
such wise advice, and showed so extraordinary 
a knowledge of warfare, that he was forthwith ap- 
pointed to the command of one wing of the newly 
raised army, which was about to march from 
Paris to the aid of the King at Rouen. 

A proud man was Ogier as he rode forth at 
the head of his troops next morning, his heart 
fired with the joy of coming battle and love of the 
fair queen, who from her window, watched the 
passing army, and dropped a wreath of sweet- 
scented flowers at her champion’s feet. 

When the army reached Rouen it was met by 
the news that the king lay slain by an arrow, and 
that the town and surrounding country were in 
the hands of the heathen foe. It was not long 
before Ogier changed the fortunes of the war. 
He speedily fell upon the enemy, and completely 
routing them in a great battle, he avenged the 
King’s death and recaptured the city. Then, on 
his victorious return to Paris, he was welcomed 
as the saviour of France, and the people, who 
had now to elect a new monarch, declared, one 
and all, that the Ancient Knight must succeed to 
the throne, for he had proved himself to be a 
leader amongst men. For a year he continued to 
wage war upon the heathen invaders, driving 


209 


Ogier the Dane 

them before him until not one remained within 
the kingdom of France. So great was his delight 
in once more being on the field of battle, and so 
deep his devotion to the Queen, who, after a 
short widowhood, had now promised to bestow 
her hand upon him, that amid the pleasures of his 
new life, Avallon, with its peaceful, uneventful 
days, faded utterly from his memory. 

In due course, when May was again gladden- 
ing the land, preparations were made for the 
coronation of King Charles (the name by which 
Ogier was known in his new kingdom), and for 
his marriage, on the same day, with the widowed 
Queen. Full of joyful thoughts he awoke in the 
early dawn of that great day. So early it was 
that the sparrows had scarce begun to twitter in 
the eaves, and at first the only sound that was 
heard in his bedchamber was the distant hammer- 
ing of the woodwrights, who had been busy over- 
night completing the staging for the morning’s 
pageant. 

Presently, however, a voice rang in his ears : 
“ Ogier ! Ogier ! ” Now, our hero had lost all 
memory, not only of Avallon, but also of his 
former days on earth when he was known as 
Ogier the Dane. The name was strange to him, 
therefore, and, rising on his elbow, he cried : 


210 Stories From William Morris 

‘‘ Who is here ? Why seek ye an Ogier in this 
room? ” 

There came a sigh in answer to his questions. 

Ogier was once a mighty knight/’ said the 
gentle voice, ** and many were his gallant deeds 
when Charlemaine ruled in this land.” Then the 
astonished listener heard the story of his own 
wonderful prowess and the conquests he had once 
made. “ The Ogier of whom I tell, is none other 
than thou who to-day callest thyself Charles of 
France ; last year the Ancient Knight was thy 
title. Ah, Ogier, mine own love, hast thou for- 
gotten that thou earnest here only on a short 
sojourn from the happy land of Avallon ? Re- 
turn, I pray thee ; the heathen are swept from 
France, and thy task is finished. If thou didst 
linger here, no more fame couldst thou win, and 
the unending youth that my ring provides for 
thee, would rouse ill talk amongst mortals. 
Come, love, take from me the crown which dis- 
pels all thought of earthly life, and which will 
once more bring thee perfect bliss. Dost thou 
still look on me strangely? Nay, Ogier, this is 
no empty dream.” 

By his side stood Morgan le Fay, dazzlingly 
beautiful, holding in her outstretched hand the 
crown that had been placed on his head when 


211 


Ogier .the Dane 

first he entered the palace of Avallon. At her 
bidding he now rose as in a dream, put on the 
kingly robes that had once been Charlemaine’s, 
and seated himself in the royal chair, wearing the 
golden crown, and holding in his right hand the 
sceptre of that great conqueror. Then the fairy 
Morgan drew near, raised the earthly crown 
from his head, and set in its place her circlet, 
which brought its wearer the blessed boon of 
forgetfulness. In a moment the memory of the 
past months was blotted out; the hero recalled 
the fair land of Avallon, and knew that it was no 
creation of his fancy that stood before him, but 
his own true love, who had come to lead him to 
those distant shores. 

‘‘ Oh, love,” he faltered, “ how came we here ? 
Have I been separated from thee for a while ? I 
dreamed, methinks,of having spent long months 
toiling and battling upon earth.” 

Without waiting to answer, she took his hand 
in hers and drew him gently from the palace. 
On the threshold they paused, and turned their 
eyes upon the sleeping city, whose Queen would 
yet have to seek a new consort to share her 
throne. Beneath the rising sun the Seine shone 
like a great stream of molten gold, and very fair 
lay the misty town along its banks. A moment 


212 Stories From William Morris 


the pair stood drinking in their last memory of 
this world — then vanished, and mortals knew 
Ogier no more. But in far-distant Avallon, he 
and his fairy bride dwell together in bliss, un- 
touched by age or by the shadow of death. 


The Golden Apples 


A MERCHANT ship of Tyre was on the 
point of starting upon its homeward 
passage from a Grecian shore. The 
sails were set and the anchor was being hoisted 
when a loud shout was heard from the cliffs. 
Across the sands two men came hastening to- 
ward the ship, one of them huge-limbed and 
strong as any giant, clothed in a lion’s skin, and 
carrying a great club banded with steel ; the other 
old and gray-haired, panting with the exertion of 
keeping pace with his stout young comrade. 
His fluttering blue gown looked a signal of dis- 
tress as he feebly pressed forward, leaning upon a 
long staff. The Tyrians saw him point out their 
boat to his companion, who raised his voice 
again, and hailed them cheerily : 

“ Good sirs, we hear that ye are setting out for 
Tyre and countries that are hotter than ours. 
Fate has it that I am to meet my death by fire, 
so I would fain begin now to try how I stand 
heat ! ” He stopped to laugh heartily at his jest- 
213 


214 Stories From William Morris 

ing words, and then went on more seriously to 
ask if they two might journey with the Tyrians. 

The master of the boat was not unwilling to 
take them on board, provided they could show 
themselves honest men, and able to pay him a 
fair sum for passage-money. 

“ Take this as a guarantee of our good faith,” 
cried the giant- like man ; and he flung on to the 
deck an enormous gold armlet that shattered to 
atoms a water-jar upon which it chanced to fall. 
The sharp-eyed Tyrian was well pleased with the 
mass of gold that lay at his feet, and when the 
gray-haired stranger on the beach held up two 
great pearls, and promised to hand them to him 
so soon as the merchants took himself and his 
friend on board, the agreement was made with- 
out further delay. Then the strong man caught 
up the elder in his arms, and strode through 
the water to the side of the ship, where, seizing 
the end of a rope that was thrown out to him, 
he swung himself and his living burden lightly 
upon deck. 

The seamen crowded around the strangers, and 
would have asked many questions, but they were 
awed by the manner in which the great-limbed 
younger one met their advances. They could 
not even learn the names of the two newcomers. 


The Golden Apples 215 

The Shepherd of the Shore was the only title the 
elder would give himself ; and as for the younger, 
he laughingly told the Tyrians that they might 
call him the Strong Man. 

The voyage seemed prosperous. The wind 
favored their course toward Tyre, and while the 
sailors delighted in the genial company of the 
Strong Man, his little old friend gave them tenfold 
more enjoyment by telling them wonderful stories 
of the deep, and describing the life of the strange 
sea-folk who live beneath the waves. Some- 
times his listeners were ready to believe that he 
had himself seen these green watery depths, so 
vividly did he picture the quiet, sunless pools 
where tree-like sea-weed overspreads the white 
bones of lost sailors, and where mermaids play 
with frolicsome little sea monsters. 

One morning the party awoke to see the coast 
of Phoenicia lying before them ; but ere they 
could touch land the fair weather gave place to a 
cold, rainy day, and the wind veered round to the 
east. In a tempest of driving rain and wind the 
ship was swept westward, on and on, until the 
Tyrians believed that they would soon reach the 
edge of the world, where the circling ocean 
stream would bear them round and round the 
earth through all time and eternity, since surely 


2i6 Stories From William Morris 


death itself could not befall them with these two 
godlike strangers sharing their lot. Yet their 
fears were vain. Calm and sunshine followed the 
terrible storm, and their ship sailed smoothly for- 
ward, though her course was still, perforce, to- 
ward the west. At length a new land appeared 
above the waves — a strange land of mountains 
fringed by a strip of rich, flowering meadows and 
leafy orchards. As the seafarers drew near, they 
saw, half hidden behind a thicket of rose-trees, a 
long and immensely high wall of brass, on which 
the Strong Man fixed his eyes eagerly. The 
Tyrians guessed now that their course had not 
been purposeless. The gods had driven them to 
these shores in order that this man should reach 
a place unknown to mortals, but of which, never- 
theless, he had come in search. 

No sooner was the gangway thrust out than 
the strange pair stepped ashore, the younger 
with a shout of good cheer, the elder slowly and 
unwillingly. Then two of the crew, more ad- 
venturous than their fellows, determined to fol- 
low the strangers secretly, and see the matter 
out. 

Treading upon a carpet of most gorgeous 
flowers, such as no other country could show, the 
men walked up to the brazen wall, on which were 


217 


The Golden Apples 

pictured histories of things long past and also 
events yet to come. At a great iron-bound door 
the Strong Man halted, and, raising his club, he 
shattered the bolts with a few blows. The Tyr- 
ians, following at a safe distance behind, saw him 
step over the threshold of the ruined door into a 
wonderful garden beyond. His old comrade, 
curiously enough, had disappeared. When last 
they noticed him he had been leaning idly 
against a tree-trunk whilst his comrade showered 
his blows upon the door, but when next they 
looked in his direction they saw nothing more 
than a lithe green lizard slipping through the dry 
leaves at the stump of the tree. For the time, 
however, they thought nothing of the elder man, 
for their whole attention was given to the 
younger. He marched down a long grass path 
in the garden, brushing aside the lilies at his feet 
and the drooping branches of blossom about his 
shoulders. Presently the sound of sweet girlish 
voices was carried across the beds of flowers, and 
the Strong Man stayed his steps when he came 
in sight of a marble fountain overhung by a tree, 
which bore on a bough above the water three 
golden apples. Around the tree stood three 
lovely maidens, and, as if to guard these guard- 
ians of the fruit, a huge black serpent wound 


2i8 Stories From William Morris 


its coils about the maidens’ feet and the smooth 
stem of the apple-tree, and reared its crest threat- 
eningly above the golden-haired sisters. 

The Strong Man spoke to the three maidens 
frankly and yet gently. He told them that he 
had come to pick the golden apples from their 
bough, and when they each in turn prayed him 
to forbear from such an attempt, he answered that 
he was ready to face the serpent and had no fear 
of its venomous fangs. The sisters, having 
warned him to no purpose, had then to do their 
appointed duty in guarding the fruit from this 
bold adventurer. They let the serpent uncoil, 
and watched it dart with a hideous hiss toward 
the invader of their peaceful garden. It wreathed 
itself round his limbs ; but he, strong and confi- 
dent, grappled with it furiously, strangled the life 
out of its writhing neck, and flung it to the 
ground a limp, lifeless mass, the dark blood ooz- 
ing from beneath its bruised and battered scales. 

The maidens had neither praise nor blame to 
give the hero. No doubt they admired his 
prowess, but it was not theirs to speak to him 
who had won the fruit of their garden. They 
silently marked him pull down the bough and 
pluck the three golden apples. They listened in 
silence when he begged them to keep his girdle 


The Golden Apples 219 

in token of his visit, and unmoved they watched 
him turn, with the fruit wrapped in his lion’s 
skin, and leave the place. 

The Tyrian sailors, who had been unseen wit- 
nesses of the struggle, now hurried out of the 
garden before the Strong Man. His friend, the 
Shepherd of the Shore, as he had called himself, 
was nowhere to be seen. On the spot where he 
had last been noticed, a little blind mole was 
wandering up and down restlessly ; but you may 
be sure the seamen had no eyes for such a com- 
mon creature when their minds were so full of 
the scene from which they were hastening. 
Hardly had they reached the ship, and exclaimed 
to their countrymen that they had certainly no 
other than a god in their company, when the 
Strong Man made his appearance unconcernedly, 
accompanied as before by the elder stranger ; 
and the Tyrians, for all that they thirsted to learn 
of his exploit, dared not put a single question to 
this open-faced but curiously secretive hero. 
They raised their anchor, since there was noth- 
ing to keep them longer on this lonely shore, 
and the ship now sped eastward without diffi- 
culty. The Strong Man was light-hearted as 
ever, laughing and jesting with the crew as though 
his life had been all play to him. His comrade 


220 Stories From William Morris 


resumed his former habit of telling many a 
strange story of other times and places, and now 
that the visit to that far-off island had been ac- 
complished, the men noticed that his face was no 
longer drawn and haggard ; like the Strong 
Man, he too had something more than mortal in 
his appearance. 

“ Come,” he said to the Tyrians one evening^ 
as they flocked around him to beg for another of 
his wonderful tales. “ To-night I will tell you a 
marvel that is of your own age. 

“ Asian though ye are, ye have surely heard of 
great Hercules and his brave deeds in all parts of 
the earth no less than in his own land of Greece. 
Well, it is but a month ago that King Eurys- 
theus of Mycenae, who lords it over Hercules, 
ordered him to fetch from the garden of the 
Hesperides the three golden apples which have 
hung there for countless ages watched by the 
daughters of Hesperus. But how was Hercules 
to find his way to a land which no mortal had 
ever reached ? The hero turned grave as he 
thought over the difficulties of the quest. All 
night he walked the seashore, and at gray dawn 
he came to a bay where, the tide having ebbed 
its farthest, a great stretch of shining wet sand 
lay before him. Strewn upon the sands he saw 


221 


The Golden Apples 

strange shapes that were but the ocean’s counter- 
parts of what ye know upon the dry land — sea 
lions, horses, and cows, mermaids and mermen, 
and in the midst of all lay the sea-god Nereus. 
While this host of Nereus’ folk and beasts were 
sleeping, Hercules crept up to the sea-god, and 
woke him with a shout : ‘ Nereus, thou who 
knowest everything in heaven and earth and be- 
neath the waves, arise and lead me to the Hes- 
perides, or I will wrestle with thee till I wring out 
thy consent by main force.’ 

“ The hero’s loud voice roused every sleeper. 
The men and maids darted beneath the billows, 
and the green-haired beasts plunged into their 
homes with a dull roar that echoed through the 
distant caves. At first Nereus would not hearken 
to the bold request made of him. Then Her- 
cules leaped upon him, and on the lonely sand 
sea-god and mighty hero wrestled their fiercest. 
The old man of the seas was no match in strength 
for his young opponent, so where force was want- 
ing he tried to win by tricks. First he changed 
himself into a leopard, hoping that Hercules 
would drop that armful in dismay. But his 
burly foe was not so easily discouraged. Then 
he turned into a big brown bear, and hugged 
the man till he himself was tired, and was glad 


222 Stories From William Morris 


to take the form of a tiny bird that was almost 
too small for Hercules’ large fingers to close 
upon. What other shapes did he put on? A 
slimy eel, a snake with glittering golden eyes, 
and even a fly which, for all its quickness and 
tiny size, could not escape Hercules. Fire and 
water alike Nereus changed himself into, and 
when these too failed to baffle the hero, the sea- 
god gave up the struggle, and, taking his natural 
shape of a small gray-haired man (whom ye, 
Tyrians, have seen day after day in your midst !), 
he gave Hercules the boon that he required, and 
led him to the beach, where your boat, bound 
for the port of Tyre, was, by the will of the gods, 
made to bear Hercules, as ye yourselves know, 
to the island of the Hesperides. 

“ And now ye have heard my story. Your 
ship may be the worse of this long voyage ; your 
kinsfolk may just now be sad at heart, thinking 
that ye are lost ; but I promise you that ye shall 
have no cause to mourn this journey if, on land- 
ing, ye build a temple to Nereus, the sea-god, 
and do honor to him whom ye have borne in 
your ship these many days. From this time 
henceforth look to me for help whensoever ye 
find yourselves in troubled waters.” 

Hardly had the Tyrians, open-mouthed and 


The Golden Apples 


223 

breathless with astonishment, heard the end of 
his speech than the old man faded from their 
sight. At the garden of the Hesperides two of 
them had thought little of the lizard and the 
mole which had appeared when the old man 
vanished, but now, when a sea-gull fluttered past 
them from the spot where Nereus had sat in 
their midst, they knew that the god had chosen 
once more, and for the last time, to change his 
shape in their presence. The men turned to 
Hercules (the Strong Man, as they had well 
named him), and would have done reverence to 
him, but he laughingly refused their worship. 
‘‘ Give sacrifice to Nereus, who brought us upon 
our way when no mortal could have guided us 
to the land of the Hesperides; but for myself, I 
wish no honor paid me ; rather would I live as a 
simple man reveling in the sunshine of heaven 
and the joy of human life.” 


The Lovers of Gudrun 


N ine hundred years ago, on the western 
shore of Iceland, stood the great stead- 
ing of Herdholt, where dwelt Olaf the 
Peacock, a man beloved by his people and held 
in high honor by all around. 

Thorgerd was his wife, and there had been 
born to them five stalwart sons and two daugh- 
ters. Bodli, the son of Thorleik, Olaf’s brother 
had been reared amongst them, and between 
him and Kiartan, the eldest son of Olaf, there 
had ever been a close friendship, so that they 
were dearer to each other than brothers. 

Olaf’s friend and neighbor, Oswif, lived at 
Bathstead, seven miles from Herdholt; he too 
was the father of five sons, but the pride of his 
house was his daughter Gudrun, a maiden of 
wondrous beauty, just fifteen years old at the 
time our story begins. 

One day, when her father and mother had 
left the house, a well-known and much honored 
visitor arrived, the white-haired Guest whom men 
called the Wise, because his eyes had power at 

224 


The Lovers of Gudrun 


225 

times to see what would befall in the days to 
come. 

Gladly Gudrun welcomed her father’s friend, 
and begged him to dismount and await Oswif’s 
return from the fishing. “ Nay,” said the old 
man ; I must reach my kinsman Armod’s house 
to-night. Yet because I hear that in thy young 
head dwells much of thy father’s wisdom, I will 
alight and talk with thee an hour.” 

Then Gudrun led the way to the hall, where 
there was laid out abundance of good cheer for 
Guest and his followers, and she set herself with 
merry and wise talk to entertain her aged visitor. 
All at once a strange look came over his face, as 
if he saw no more the things before his eyes, but 
gazed fearfully into the secrets of future days. 

Then he asked the girl, who had begun to 
tremble at his altered looks : “ Dost thou ever 

lie awake through the winter nights brooding 
over dreams that have disturbed thy sleep ? ” 
** Yea,” she said ; four dreams haunt me by 
night, but why should I trouble thee with my 
fancies ? ” “ Tell them quick,” was his answer, 

“ while yet I have the power to read their mean- 
ing.” Then Gudrun went on : “ In my first 

dream I stood by the side of a running stream. 
Suddenly I became aware that the coif I was 


226 Stories From William Morris 


wearing was ugly and unbecoming, and I tore it 
from my head, and cast it into the stream, and 
then I awoke laughing.” Now tell the second 
one,” said Guest. “ I saw myself standing by the 
shore of the great sea, and on my arm was a sil- 
ver ring that I loved with a great love, but even 
as my hand caressed it, it slipped from me, and 
was lost among the waves, and I wept as if for 
a beloved friend whom 1 should see no more.” 
“ What came next ? ” said Guest. It seemed 
to me,” she went on, “ that I walked on the road 
nearby our home, and on my arm I wore a ring 
of gold. Suddenly I felt myself falling, and as 
I stretched out my hands to save myself, the ring 
struck against a stone and broke in two, and 
from the broken ends a stream of blood flowed 
out. While I looked on sorrowfully, it was borne 
into my mind that somehow in me lay the fault 
whereby the ring was broken, rather than in any 
flaw in the thing itself.” “ Bad dreams,” said 
Guest. “ Tell me the next.” “ This is the last 
of the four,” said the maiden. “ Methought 
I wore a helm of gold, set with precious gems. 
Heavy it was, yet I had such pride in wearing 
it that the weight seemed as naught, and I hoped 
to keep it long ; but without warning it was 
swept from my head into the stormy firth, and 


The Lovers of Gudrun 


227 

I saw it no more. Fain I would have wept, but 
no tears came ; and then I woke, and heard the 
neat-herd go singing over the snow to his morn- 
ing’s work.” 

Guest was loth to sadden the heart of the 
lovely maid, yet, having questioned her of her 
dreams, he could not withhold the prophecy he 
read in them. He told her that hers should be 
a stirring life, full of love and hatred and wrongs, 
both given and received. “ The coif thou didst 
throw from thee betokens a husband unloved, and 
soon to be shaken off by thine own deed. By 
the ring of silver is foreshadowed another hus- 
band, loving and beloved, but soon to be snatched 
from thy side by the hungry waves in the firth 
below. As to the golden ring, it tells of the third 
mate more worthy of thy love than the last, yet 
with flaws that shall lead to sorrow — see thou 
that they be not of thy making ! The helm of 
gold is thy fourth and last husband. Well shalt 
thou love him, yet not without fear, and thy heart 
shall mourn when he too is swcllowed up by the 
wild waves of Hwammfirth.” 

With a pale face Gudrun listened to the seer, 
and at the end she thanked him with trembling 
lips that he had at least shown her the truth, not 
tried to deceive her with flattering tales. 


228 Stories From William Morris 


Presently Guest and his followers mounted 
their steeds, and rode away, while Gudrun stood 
watching them from the gate, her heart heavy 
with dim forebodings of all that Fate held in store 
for her. 

Guest had ridden but a short way when he met 
Olaf, who insisted that he should return with him 
to Herdholt to taste the good cheer that stood 
ready in the great hall for all who would par- 
take. 

Olaf was a goodly man to look upon, great of 
limb, well-knit, with the dark-lashed, gray-blue 
eyes of his Irish mother. His voice was like 
a bell, and his fifty years of life had left no mark 
on his handsome face. His dress was like 
a king’s, and he had a gold ring on his left arm, 
while his right hand carried a gold-wrought 
spear. Guest and his son Thord turned with him, 
and together they rode to Herdholt, and entered 
the hall through the well-carved door, made of 
solid wood brought across the sea from Norway. 
Guest gazed with pleasure on the fair paintings 
that adorned the paneling of the hall, where 
might be seen the gold-haired Baldur lying dead 
on his funeral pyre in the middle of his ship ; 
there too was Frey with the gold-bristled boar, 
the dark-bearded Niord, and Freyia with her gray 


The Lovers of Gudrun 


229 

cats playing at her feet. Thor was to be seen 
with his hammer, and Heimdall, whose golden 
horn shall terrify all hearts when he winds it in the 
Twilight of the Gods. Last of all was Odin, sad 
with the stories of sin and suffering brought to 
him by his ravens. Thought and Memory. 

Then Olaf led his friend to the cloth-room, and 
showed his stores of finest napery and hangings — 
English linen and Flemish cloth, and embroid- 
eries brought from beyond the seas. His armory 
too he showed, well plenished with coats of mail 
and bows and arrows and all manly weapons. 
Nor were the butteries unvisited, with their stores 
of fish and meal and casks of wine and honey 
from the clover fields of Kent. They visited the 
cattle sheds and stables, and looked into the 
women’s chamber, where the maids were busy at 
their spinning. When Guest at last departed, 
Olaf gave rich gifts to him and his son that made 
their hearts glad — a hat of priceless Russian fur 
wreathed round with a golden chain, a splendidly 
decorated sword, and a belt of English em- 
broidery. As they were riding forth they saw 
a number of young men sporting in the waves of 
the firth with loud and joyous shouts, till one gave 
a shrill cry, and then they all swam to the shore, 
and began to put on their raiment. They were 


230 Stories From William Morris 

the sons and dependents of Olaf, and long and ear- 
nestly Guest gazed, as if he would fain read for 
them what the future hid. Olaf named them one 
by one, hoping for some promise of good, but no 
forecast of their fate came from the lips of the 
Wise one. Only as he turned away he spoke 
cheerfully : “ Surely, my friend, it will make thee 

glad to know that Kiartan shall have greater glory 
than any other dweller in our land.” With these 
words he smote his horse, and galloped on, leav- 
ing Olaf uncertain as to what his words might 
mean. When they had ridden some way, Thord 
saw with surprise that the tears were running 
down Guest’s cheeks. 

At last the old man spoke : “ Dost thou won- 
der, my son, at these tears ? Alas ! they fall in 
very pity for the woes that shall come upon our 
countryside. Fair were the men and women we 
saw to-day, yet over them hangs a heavy weight 
of woe. Love slaying love, victory that can only 
bring ruin, truth called lies, and hatred springing 
out of kindness — this shalt thou see, my son ; 
yea, and thou shalt hear of Bodli with Kiartan 
lying dead at his feet, himself to come to a like 
end. The grave shall close over me before these 
things fall out, nor would I have the thought of 
them darken thy life. Forget, and go cheerfully 


The Lovers of Gudrun 


23J 

on thy way.” Soon the father and son reached 
their kinsman Armod’s house ; and we hear no 
more of them in this tale. 

Days passed, and the fame of Gudrun’s beauty 
spread through the land, so that ere long a wooer 
came to ask her of her father. Thorvald was his 
name, a rough and passionate man, and, being 
very eager to win her, he got his desire, though 
it brought him but little happiness. Day by day 
Gudrun loved him less, and at last she could no 
more hide the scorn she felt for him. Then 
hatred mingled with the love that raged in his 
heart, and one day in his passion he struck her 
on the face. In silence Gudrun took the blow, 
but on a day when Thorvald had gone from home, 
she rose up and went her way to Bathstead ; nor 
would she return to her husband, but rested not 
until she got from the Hill of Laws a decree of 
divorce, and so was free to abide once more in 
her father's house, as before her unhappy mar- 
riage. 

Not long did she remain there, for ere many 
weeks were passed Thord sought her for his wife. 
He was brave and fair, and she lived with him in 
great happiness for three short months. Then 
the fated came to pass, and on a June night, 


232 Stories From William Morris 

while Gudrun lay fast asleep, her husband was 
rolled toward the cliffs, dead and cold, in the dark 
waters of the firth. 

Once again Gudrun returned to her old home, 
but this time with a fierce and bitter pain in her 
heart. Winter came and spring, and now the 
name of Kiartan was in the mouths of all men. 
Great of frame and strong beyond his years, none 
could rival him in manly deeds. A swift runner 
and strong swimmer, of sure aim with his bow, 
and a perfect swordsman, skilful to work in the 
smithy, and withal gentle in speech and manner 
and learned in the art of rhyme, what wonder 
that his fame spread through the land ? Gudrun 
heard the gossips talk, yet heeded not, for still 
she mourned for the husband she had lost. One 
evening, when midsummer was at hand, the sound 
of horse-hoofs was heard drawing near to Bath- 
stead. Oswif rose to see who might be approach- 
ing, and presently he returned leading his friend 
Olaf by the hand, while two young men fol- 
lowed them up the hall. Gudrun, sitting alone 
and sad on the dais, knev/ at once that the youth 
with the joyous face and golden hair must be 
Kiartan, and the one beside him, black-haired and 
high of brow, could be none other than Bodli. 
Unwillingly she arose and greeted them, and 


The Lovers of Gudrun 


233 


listened in silence to Olafs words of kindly sym- 
pathy. As the evening wore on she began to 
join in the common talk, and by degrees Kiartan 
won her to cheerfulness by memories of the 
happy days of childhood when they played to- 
gether on the shore. Ere he rode away at night 
he had given his heart to the lovely Gudrun, and 
in her eyes he could read the dawn of an answer- 
ing love. 

Happily the days now passed for these two, 
and Bodli shared in their joy. So might their 
lives have sped in peace and contentment but for 
the stirring news that came from Norway. King 
Olaf had invaded the country, defeated and slain 
Hacon the King, and driven away his son ; and 
now he ruled Norway with wisdom and justice, 
and the land enjoyed great prosperity under his 
sway. 

Eagerly did Kiartan listen to the tales of King 
Olafs prowess, and ever in his heart grew the 
wish that he too might go forth and win the 
fame and honor that Iceland could not offer to 
her sons. The heart of Gudrun grew heavy when 
she saw what was in her lover’s mind, yet she 
would not keep him back from the life he longed 
for. 

Bodli must needs go where Kiartan led ; but 


234 Stories From William Morris 

his brow was sad and his words few, and the part' 
ing from Gudrun weighed heavy on his heart, 
for he knew now that his love had gone out un- 
bidden to his friend’s betrothed. 

At length, when summer once more made 
green the fields round Herdholt and Bathstead, 
all was ready ; a fair ship lay at Burgfirth, with 
Kalf for its captain ; the last farewells were 
spoken, and Kiartan and Bodli, with a goodly 
following, stepped on board, and soon the shores 
of Iceland were lost to sight. 

They reached Drontheim in safety, and found 
the praise of King Olaf in every mouth, yet his 
latest decree had filled the people with consterna- 
tion. He had but lately been won over himself 
from heathendom, and he now commanded all his 
subjects, like him, to give up the old Norse 
gods and accept the Christian faith under pain of 
death. 

When Kiartan and his men arrived they found 
three ships from Iceland lying in the bay, and 
from their crews they learned that at the coming 
Yule-tide they would be called upon by the King 
to make their choice between baptism and death. 

Even so it fell out. Kiartan and his men were 
summoned to King Olaf’s hall. They came in no 
gentle or submissive mood — a small band indeed. 


The Lovers of Gudrun 


235 

but full of courage, and sworn to obey no lord 
save their own chosen leader. 

Silently they listened while Olaf’s German 
bishop expounded at length the new gospel which 
they were expected to embrace. When he had 
ended, the mighty voice of the King rang out : 
“Ye have heard the faith — my faith — what think 
ye of it ? ” Loud cheers from the men-at-arms 
greeted his words, and Bodli and the Icelanders 
drew their swords, not knowing what might betide. 

Kiartan alone stood smiling and unmoved in 
the midst of the uproar. “ Peace ! ” cried the 
King, “ not yet have I given the signal for 
slaughter ! ” Then turning to Kiartan, whose 
gallant looks pleased him well, he offered him a 
place and honor at his court, and freedom to wor- 
ship in the old way ; but as for the rest of the Ice- 
land men, he added : “ I will deal with them as 

seems good to me.” Scornfully Kiartan rejected 
his offer. “ Like a fool dost thou speak, O 
King ! Each man in my band is as a brother to 
me, and as brothers we will live and die to- 
gether.” Olafs generous heart was moved by 
the fearless bearing and proud words of the 
young leader, and he yielded his point. “ Thou 
and thy men shall go in peace,” he said ; “ only 
come now and sit at my side as an equal, and let 


236 Stories From William Morris 

thy good sword be as ready to serve me as it was 
to defend the rights of those whom thou leadest." 
Then there was great rejoicing throughout that 
crowded hall, and men ate and drank their fill, 
and good fellowship bound together them of 
Norway and of Iceland. 

Day by day the love between Kiartan and the 
King waxed stronger, for each was of a knightly 
spirit, and many a noble deed was planned be- 
tween them. What Kiartan would not do to 
save his life, he afterward did gladly of his own 
free will, and before Yule-tide was over, he and his 
men appeared in the great minster, and were 
baptized into the Christian faith. 

With King Olaf lived his sister, the fair Ingi- 
biord. Lovely she was, and wise and good, and 
Kiartan found it pleasant to linger by her side 
and listen to her gentle talk. Nor was it strange 
that the heart of Ingibiord went out in love to one 
so goodly to look upon, so renowned in arms, and 
so held m honor throughout Norway ; for many 
were the brave deeds done by Kiartan, and his 
fame was great in the land. 

Thus the days passed merrily at court, and the 
men of Herdholt rested and were glad. Only 
the brow of Bodli darkened, and his heart grew 
heavier day by day ; for his love to Gudrun left 


The Lovers of Gudrun 237 

him no peace of mind, and half he hoped and 
half he feared that Kiartan would prove a false 
lover, and leave him free to woo her for him^ 
self. 

Long they tarried in Norway, for King Olaf 
had sent Thangbrand the priest to Iceland to 
compel the men thereof to turn from Odin and 
from Thor to the new faith. Three converts only 
could Thangbrand count when he had to fly for 
his life from the enraged islanders. Determined 
to carry his point, Olaf sent another mission to 
Iceland, and with them went Bodli and the men 
of Herdholt. “ Thou, Kiartan, and three others,” 
said the King, shall bide with me here as 
hostages till that stubborn people bend to my 
will.” Great was the joy of Bodli at the thought 
of meeting Gudrun once more, yet dread lest he 
might turn traitor to his friend weighed heavy on 
his heart, and it was with troubled looks he went 
to bid Kiartan farewell and to take his greetings 
for the friends at home. 

He found Kiartan as usual glad and light- 
hearted, troubled with no regrets for the past nor 
fears for the time to come. Bodli promised to 
tell at home of all the honor and fame he had 
won in Norway; then Kiartan looked him 
straight in the face, and said : “ Yea, tell all this 


238 Stories From William Morris 

to Gudrun, and say to her we shall assuredly 
meet again.” 

So they parted ; and Kiartan returned to his 
easy and joyful life and to the smiles of the lovely 
Ingibiord, while Bodli set sail for Iceland, full of 
longing and joy and fear. 

It so chanced that on a day in late autumn 
Gudrun had wandered out alone, heavy-hearted 
at the thought of another winter at hand and no 
hope of Kiartan’s return. Suddenly she heard 
the sound of horse-hoofs, and saw on the crest of 
a neighboring hill, a scarlet- clad warrior whom 
she soon knew to be Bodli Thorleikson. Half 
fainting she waited for his news. Kiartan bides 
still in Norway, held in high honor of King and 
people. Well and gladsome he is, and he looks 
to see thee once again. Such were the words he 
bade me bear to thee.” So spake Bodli, and the 
anger of Gudrun flashed out at the coldness of 
the greeting sent by her lover. She railed at 
Bodli, then broke down, and with tears besought 
him to tell her the truth. 

In his desire to be true to his friend, he told her 
of all the great deeds that had won fame for Kiar- 
tan in Norway, and of the love in which he was 
held by the King, and said no word of his deal- 
ings with Ingibiord. 


The Lovers of Gudrun 


239 

Gudrun listened unsatisfied. “ Why, then," 
she said, “ tarrieth he still in Norway ? ” Bodli’s 
love could no longer be held in check by his 
sense of honor, and forth rushed the tale — all 
true, and yet such as a friend should not have 
spoken — of Kiartan s devotion to the beautiful 
Ingibiord, and how King and people alike trusted 
they should wed. He told too how Olaf and 
Kiartan dreamed of bringing all Denmark and 
England under their sway, and he let Gudrun 
believe that ambition had drowned the love that 
once was hers. At first she bent humbly before 
the blow, and prayed that the lover who had 
been false to her might yet be happy with an- 
other bride. No look did she cast on Bodli, who 
found his way home to Herdholt, and sat there 
for three days silent and as if bereft of reason. 

On the fourth day he rode to Bathstead in 
answer to Gudrun’s summons, and again the 
story of Kiartan's fame and of his forgetfulness 
was repeated. 

At times a suspicion crossed Gudrun's mind 
that Bodli might be deceiving her in hopes of 
winning her for himself, for not unknown to her 
was the secret of his love. Yet Kiartan came 
not, and the stray gossip that reached her from 
Norway made it yet more certain that Iceland 


240 Stories From William Morris 

would see him no more, till at length all hope 
died out of the heart of Gudrun, and she gave 
herself up to despair. 

And how fared it with Kiartan all these days 
while his betrothed wept for him in vain ? For 
a time his life went on right merrily, but by de- 
grees weariness crept over his spirit, and a long' 
ing for the old home-life awoke within him. 
Even to Ingibiord his manner changed, and 
though he ever answered her gently and cour- 
teously, yet she knew that his heart was far away, 
and that even when he spoke with her a shadow 
had fallen between them. 

Then came great news to Norway, rejoicing 
the heart of King Olaf. Iceland had turned from 
its ancient gods, and the Christian faith was now 
the creed of the land. The king sent for the 
four hostages, and told them they might depart 
laden with rich gifts if so they would ; or if it 
were their will to remain, they would find wealth 
and honor among his people, and his smiling 
glance fell on Kiartan as he said to himself : 
** He, of a surety, will never leave us ! ” 

But no answering smile lit up Kiartan’s face. 
After long silence he spoke. “ O King, our 
thanks be thine for all the kindness thou hast 
done us and the honor I have won at thy hands. 


The Lovers of Gudrun 241 

nor think me lacking in gratitude if I accept this 
thy greatest boon — even the liberty to seek 
again my own country. Three years is it since 
I left home and kindred, and one dearest to me 
of all.” Olaf was deeply hurt, yet pride forbade 
him to show his disappointment, and the day 
drew to its close with feasting and words of 
cheer. While his ships were being prepared for 
sea Kiartan spent his days in troubled thought. 
He well knew the pain his going would cause to 
Ingibiord ; nor was the pain hers alone, for he 
had come to love her with a very true love, 
though he still held Gudrun as queen of his 
heart. Their last meeting was full of anguish, 
yet Ingibiord had no word of reproach for him or 
of hatred for her rival. Nay, she even charged 
him to bear to his bride a choice gift — a coif of 
gold and richest embroidery fit for royal wear — 
and to tell her whence it came ; then with one 
last sad kiss she bade him farewell, knowing that 
in this world they would meet no more. 

Nor was Kiartan’s parting from the king easy, 
though Olaf spake nothing but words of love and 
regret at losing so dear a friend. As a last gift 
he pressed on him a noble sword, begging him 
never to let it leave his side, for he felt that 
troubled days lay before him. With a heavy 


242 Stories From William Morris 

heart Kiartan thanked the King, bade him a sor- 
rowful farewell, and stepped on board his ship. 
His rowers settled to the oars, the long waves 
bore him out to sea, and Norway saw him no 
more, then or ever again. 

And how had things gone at Herdholt and 
Bathstead while Kiartan continued his easy, care- 
less life at King Olaf s court ? Gudrun, in de- 
spair of her lover’s return, listened at first with 
anger, then with indifference to Bodli’s eager 
wooing, and at length gave a listless consent to 
his wishes. Their ill-omened wedding took place 
in joyless fashion at Bathstead some months be- 
fore Kiartun’s return ; and there Bodli now dwelt 
with his wife, among her jealous and evil-hearted 
brothers. All this Kiartan heard from his sister 
Thurid, who came to meet him on his landing at 
Burgfirth. Another maiden was there too to 
welcome the wanderers on their return. This 
was Refna, sister of the stout Kalf, who steered 
the good ship that brought them home. She 
was a gentle maid, with great dark eyes, and a 
soft, sweet face that seemed always asking for 
love or pity. 

One day, soon after his arrival, Kiartan sur- 
prised her with Ingibiord’s regal coif on her 
head. She blushed deeply, and said it had been 


The Lovers of Gudrun 


243 

put there by others against her will, and Kiartan, 
in his kindly way, said : Sure, they were right 

who put it there ! Happy would the man be who 
owned the coif and her who wears it ! ” Poor 
little Refna flushed again with joy and pride at 
the careless words, and whispered : “ How could 

any maid say nay^ should one, so great and so 
kind as thou art, desire her love ? ” And bitter 
was her disappointment when Kiartan turned 
away with a scoffing laugh. “ All women are 
alike to me. They are all good — all blessings, 
doubtless — but not for me ! ” His heart was 
sore and bitter with thoughts of his lost love and 
of the false friend who had stolen her from him. 
Yet he went back to the home at Herdholt, and 
lived his life bravely, though he knew well that 
there could be no more of the old joyousness that 
filled his heart before he learned how Bodli had 
deceived him. 

When the news of Kiartan's return reached 
Bathstead it was received with glee by the ma- 
licious brothers of Gudrun, who saw in it a 
chance of humbling the house of Olaf. They 
hated Bodli because of his melancholy looks, and 
because, having won Gudrun, he took no joy in 
his life for the remorse he felt for having been 
false to Kiartan. They hoped now for a deadly 


244 Stories From William Morris 

feud between these kinsmen, being filled with 
envy for the fame that they had won. 

Bodli heard with dismay that Kiartan was 
again at Herdholt, not that he feared aught from 
him, but because Gudrun must now learn of his 
own treachery. On the night the news reached 
him he sat alone from twilight to dawn brooding 
over his troubles ; in the dim morning light 
Gudrun glided up the hall where he was sitting, 
and with bitter and scornful words upbraided him 
for having separated her from Kiartan, whom she 
still loved with all her heart, and she cursed him 
aloud for having ruined her life. Bodli listened 
helplessly, and when she stopped for breath, 
he murmured : “ Would that I were dead ! 

yet before I die I would fain hear a kind 
word from him I wronged, for kinder he is than 
thou ! ” 

So the months wore on heavily, and Kiartan 
passed his days in moody silence, dwelling apart 
from his friends, and caring not who came or 
went. Often Kalf brought his sister Refna, with 
her kind eyes, to comfort him in his loneliness, 
but it was as though he saw her not. 

Yule-tide came, and Oswif sent to ask the men 
of Herdholt, as his custom was, to hold the feast 
with him at Bathstead. Olaf urged Kiartan to 


The Lovers of Gudrun 245 

come, hoping that the hatred between the houses 
might be healed in that season of good will. To 
please his father Kiartan agreed, though all un- 
willingly, and went with him to the feast at Bath- 
stead. 

Bodli hoped much from his coming, and met 
him with the old kind talk, but the heart of 
Kiartan was too sore for him to answer in the 
same spirit. As for the former lovers, they met 
without visible sign of the passions that were 
raging within, and though Bodli glanced anx- 
iously from one to the other, he could read noth- 
ing of their feelings in Kiartan’s cold looks and 
Gudrun's proud and untroubled smile. 

When the guests were departing each received 
a gift from Bodli, and at the last he ordered three 
horses of a noble breed to be brought to the 
door. These, with humble words, he begged 
Kiartan to accept. Firmly, but not in anger, the 
gifts were declined. “ Strive no I6nger, O Bodli, 
against - fate,” said Kiartan. ** Friends we can 
never be again, and the best we can do is to keep 
as far apart as we may.” 

On the way home Olaf spoke cheerfully of the 
feast, rejoicing that it had passed over peacefully, 
but Kiartan warned him that there was no use in 
keeping up an outward show of good fellowship 


246 Stories From William Morris 

when there was naught but hatred and jealousy 
within. 

Had Kiartan at that feast showed any sign of 
softening, had Gudrun even by a look let him see 
how dear she still held him, kinder feelings might 
have risen and the old friendship been revived ; 
but pride was strong in the hearts of both, and 
the meeting left them farther apart than before. 

Then mischief-makers began to whisper to 
Gudrun that Kiartan and Refna had plighted 
their troth, and their wedding would shortly be 
held. 

The evil sons of Oswif took care that Kiartan 
on his side should be told that Gudrun had quite 
forgotten him, and now rejoiced in her husband’s 
love ; and further, that Bodli would ere long sail 
for England to carry war against King Ethelred, 
and that Gudrun could not bear to part from him, 
but would sail too, and take her share in the 
brave deeds that were to be done. 

Then jealousy, as well as disappointed love, 
raged in the heart of Kiartan. “ Not only has he 
stolen my betrothed — now must he steal my fame 
likewise ! The name of Bodli shall be in every 
mouth, and I and the deeds I did in Norway shall 
straightway be forgotten.” 

A year had passed since the men of Herdholt 


The Lovers of Gudrun 247 

had landed at Burgfirth, and in the great stead 
Olaf held a high festival. Among the guests sat 
Refna, gentle and pale, with eyes for none but 
Kiartan. When the feast was over his sister 
Thurid asked if he had noted the maid, and how 
white and sorrowful she had grown. “ What 
wouldst thou do,” she said, “ were Refna pining 
for thy love ? ” “ What should I do ? ” he 

answered. “No heart have I now to give, and 
she must learn to live on as I do, dreary though 
the days may be.” “ Then,” said Thurid, “ not 
long shall her life be upon earth.” Kiartan be- 
thought him that he might yet save some shreds 
of joy from his ruined hopes ; and partly from 
pity, partly because it was sweet to find himself 
once more beloved, he took Refna to his heart, 
and he and she were wed. 

When Gudrun heard the n^ws she was filled 
with rage and grief, nor were the taunts thrown at 
her by her hateful brothers meant to soothe her. 
“ What thinks our sister now ? ” she heard Ospak 
shout to Thorolf. “ Does she still believe that 
Kiartan will slay our long-visaged Bodli and 
come and claim her for his bride?” And she 
fled from their cruel sneers to nurse her passion 
in secret. More and more she came to believe 
that Kiai tan’s love had been but shallow, while 


248 Stories From William Morris 

Bodli had faced shame and dishonor that he 
might win her. She whispered to herself : 
“ Perhaps in the life to come, O my husband, I 
may love thee as thou dost deserve.” Yet she 
showed him nothing of her kinder feelings, and 
he went about as ever, with a wan face and a 
heart full of dole and pain. 

Olaf and Oswif were fain to keep up their 
ancient friendship ; and, hoping that it might 
make for peace, Oswif brought his household to 
the autumn festival at Herdholt, and Olaf pre- 
vailed on Kiartan to sit at table and do honor to 
their guests. 

The gentle Refna saw with a sinking heart the 
wondrous beauty of Gudrun and the cold and 
scornful smile with which she glanced around the 
hall. The smile gave way to a gleam of hate 
when Kiartan set his wife in her rightful place 
beside his mother Thorgerd at the head of the 
board. Next day Thorgerd insisted that Refna 
should wear at supper the glittering coif given to 
Kiartan by the Princess of Norway to bear to 
his bride. Ospak saw Gudrun turn pale at the 
sight, and he muttered : “ Sister, should not that 
gaud belong by rights to thee?” Kiartan was 
quick to note the malicious looks of the Bath- 
stead brethren, and he turned to Refna : “ I love 


The Lovers of Gudrun 


249 

thy head best uncovered, my beloved. What 
thou wearest may yet cause blood to flow, for the 
sons of Oswif look on thee with no good will.” 

Next morning, when the guests were depart- 
ing, Kiartan busied himself looking after their 
comfort, and that he might move about the more 
easily, he threw down on his bed the jeweled 
sword that King Olaf had given him, and which 
rarely left his side. When the last of the guests 
had ridden away it was found that the sword had 
gone also. Nowhere could it be seen, though 
diligent search was made. Then An the Black, 
one of the household servants, slipped out of 
doors with a grim smile on his face. He re- 
turned presently with the missing sword hidden 
under his cloak — the sword alone, for the costly 
scabbard had disappeared. He related how, 
suspecting the Bathstead men of the theft, he had 
followed them afar, and saw how Thorolf drew 
something from under his cloak and thrust it into 
the ground. When he had ridden on, An came 
up, and found the King’s gift sticking in the 
damp, peaty soil. Kiartan took the naked 
weapon with a sigh : I at least,” he said, “ was 
not the one first to unsheath the sword.” 

Soon it came to the knowledge of Kiartan that 
the sons of Oswif were making a boast of having 


250 Stories From William Morris 

done him dishonor in so dealing with his sword, 
and that in scorn they had called him Mireblade. 
Yet such was his gentleness that he passed over 
their insolence, and went with his father as usual 
to the Christmas feast at Bathstead. Thorgerd 
told Refna she must that day wear the Queen’s 
Gift, as the jeweled coif had come to be called. 
The girl would fain have refused, for she knew 
the strife it might cause, but Kiartan smilingly 
bade her do as his mother wished ; so the coif 
was brought out, and at the feast it shone like a 
star on the lovely head of Refna. 

Gudrun scarcely gave a look to her or Kiartan ; 
she sat beside Bodli, and made his heart glad with 
her smiles and caresses, so that he thought all 
must henceforth be right between them. 

Next morning, when Olaf and his household 
were preparing to depart, Refna found that the 
coif was missing. She whispered to her husband 
of the loss, whilst Ospak stood and watched them, 
the color coming and going in his evil face. 
Kiartan laughed. Light come, light gone, 
Refna, yet we shall surely find it if it is still above 
ground.” Thorgerd turned angrily to Gudrun, 
and said that in her father’s house such an insult 
could only be wiped out with blood. Scornfully 
she answered : ** The coif was given to Kiartan 


The Lovers of Gudrun 


251 

by the Norse Princess for his bride. Did she 
then mean it for Refna or for me ? ” 

To avoid further wrangling Kiartan called his 
men to saddle, and he asked Bodli to come with 
him a little way. To Ospak he said : “ Beware 

lest we meet ; live well and happy, but cross not 
my path again or it may go ill with thee.” Then, 
with a mocking laugh, he shook his bridle, and 
galloped after his company. Bodli followed him 
unarmed, not sure whether there would be war or 
peace between them. Gently Kiartan spoke, but 
warned him that it was too late now to hope for 
good fellowship while he dwelt among the inso- 
lent sons of Oswif. “ Yet,” he said, “ let us never 
forget, O Bodli, the joyous days of old and the 
love that knit us together. Let us forgive what- 
ever ill the one may have done to the other — yea, 
let us forgive beforehand whatsoever of wrong 
may yet fall out between us — that so our love 
may be remembered of men and not the strife 
into which we are surely drifting.” Bodli la- 
mented the ill he had done to Kiartan, and prayed 
that if they ever met sword to sword, he might 
win at his hand the death he had often longed 
for. 

So noble was the spirit of Kiartan, and so un- 
willing was he to grieve his father by an open 


252 Stories From William Morris 

quarrel with the house of Bathstead, that he bided 
quietly in his steading, taking no vengeance for 
the theft of the fatal coif. The spring came round 
once more; and one evening he found Refna 
weeping bitterly, and by degrees got from her the 
tale of her grief. 

At midday she had fallen asleep by the side of 
a brook, and was lost in pleasant dreams. Sud- 
denly she was roused by the talk of two women 
who were washing the household linen in the 
stream. “ Yes,” said the one, “ Kiartan sits still 
nor punishes the Bathstead men for their double 
theft. Had Gudrun been the bride and suffered 
such a loss her evil brothers would have paid for 
it dearly ! ” Doubtless,” added the other, “ Gud- 
run and our Kiartan would be glad at heart did 
Bodli Thorleikson and Refna lie dead at their 
feet ! ” 

Kiartan spoke words of love and comfort, and 
kissed and caressed Refna till her tears were 
dried ; yet for two days he went about with a 
heavy heart, brooding over the idle talk of the 
women. 

At length he summoned his men to arm and 
come to the hall at midnight. Through the 
hangings, Refna watched them as, spear in hand, 
they came clanking into the hall, talking and 


The Lovers of Gudrun 


253 

laughing beneath the red lamp-light. Kiartan, 
clad in armor, bade her farewell as she lay- 
trembling at the deeds that might be done that 
day. He told her he would bring her back a 
noble gift at night, and that she should call to- 
gether glee-men to welcome them home. Then 
he kissed her, and she heard the clashing of 
armor and the trampling of horses ; and pres- 
ently silence fell upon the old homestead. 

That morning the men of Bathstead were rudely 
wakened by the sound of horns and trumpets. 
Running to the door, they found the gates of the 
court held by some sixty of Olafs men, all fully 
armed and ready for battle. 

In vain Ospak swaggered and made a show 
of fight. Kiartan bade him beware, and remember 
that his sword, the King’s Gift, was now naked, 
though not of his own wish. None of the house 
should be harmed if they kept quiet, but he meant 
to help himself to flocks and herds to atone for 
the loss of the scabbard and the coif. Helpless, 
the men of Bathstead sat in their impotent rage, 
listening to the shouts and laughter of the Herd- 
holt men, the blowing of horns and clank of 
armor, as they gathered together the cattle from 
the pastures and prepared to drive them home. 

Then Kiartan stepped out from among his 


254 Stories From William Morris 

men, and taunted the sons of Oswif, till, stung by 
his words and goaded on by Gudrun, Bodli 
armed himself, and rushed out to face what 
seemed certain death. Kiartan called to his men 
to shed no drop of blood, and with their shields 
close locked, they pushed him back to the shelter 
of the hall, while he moaned in despair : “ Would 
I had died to-day by my foster-brother’s hand ! ” 
Kiartan’s cheerful voice rang out: “ Nay, cousin, 
if thou wilt die by me, let it be on some well- 
fought field, where at least we may gain some 
fame of one another. As for you, ye blustering 
fools, know that I waited from Yule-tide till now 
for the debt ye had to pay. At last I take it in 
full, and leave you in its place a burden of 
shame.” 

Refna, watching on the hillside that evening, 
saw a cloud of dust moving along the road, then 
spears and helmets and gay pennons, and in the 
midst of the troop the Bath stead cattle with 
wreaths of flowers twined round their horns and 
dew-lapped necks. Quickly she bade the min- 
strels stand forth and all her women in their 
gayest attire; and with music of harps and 
fiddle-bows and loud and joyful shouts, Kiartan 
was welcomed home to Herdholt. He leaped 
from his horse, threw his arms round Refna, and 


The Lovers of Gudrun 


255 

cried gaily : “Now has a goodly price been 
taken for thy coif ! ” 

“ A goodly price indeed for a girl’s coif,” 
echoed Olaf, who was standing near, “ yet for 
Kiartan’s wasted youth and for the peaceful old 
age that I shall never see, not too much — not 
too much ! ” 

After these dealings Kiartan rode carelessly as 
before through the country, and the sons of 
Oswif dared not openly lift hand against him. 

And how fared Gudrun meanwhile ? Her rage 
and despair had known no bounds when she saw 
Kiartan happy with his new-wed wife. Then 
had come the shame of the stolen coif and the 
dreadful day when she and her brothers had 
cowered in the hall while the Herdholt men had 
carried off their flocks and herds, and Bodli had 
gone out alone against them, only to return 
baffled and ashamed. The more she brooded 
the more hopeless her life appeared, and a vain 
longing seized her for an end, were it even 
through the death of Kiartan, to the weary path 
she was treading. 

A day came when news reached Bathstead 
that Kiartan had gone west to visit his friend 
Thorkel at the Knoll, and that he would ride 
home through Swinedale next morning with only 


256 Stories From William Morris 

two followers. Now, Swinedale was near to 
Bathstead, and Gudrun heard her brothers plot- 
ting how they might waylay him there and do 
him to death. Bodli, they said, must lead, for 
he was stout and well skilled in arms. 

All night Gudrun lay moaning, at one time 
hoping it might be Bodli’s lot to fall ; then the 
memory of Refna’s longing eyes swept over her, 
and she knew she could have no peace on earth 
so long as Kiartan lived. 

In the early morning she heard the trampling 
of many feet in the hall, the ringing of armor, 
and the handling of weapons. Then Bodli with 
his haggard face bent over her, and she heard 
him say : “ I go, Gudrun, and I pray that this 
night I may be brought home dead.” He pressed 
her to his breast, and with a wild farewell left her 
lying half unconscious, while he rode off through 
the morning sunshine with the five sons of Oswif 
and three strong men-at-arms. 

Kiartan had risen early that day to ride home 
to Herdholt. Thorkel with twelve men kept 
him company for many miles, but where the 
pass opened into Swinedale he thanked them, 
and sent them back, saying his way was easy 
now, and he had no fear of aught the cowardly 
sons of Oswif could do against him. Then he 


The Lovers of Gudrun 


257 

rode eastward, accompanied only by An the 
Black and another house-servant, Thorarin by 
name. 

A herdsman had gone out with his master that 
morning to look after the mares and foals that 
were pasturing in Swinedale, and they two were 
the only witnesses of what now befell. They 
saw the Bathstead men creep up stealthily to a 
hollow worn in the hillside by a stream : “ Now,” 
said the herdsman, “ we knew what manner of 
men these were, and guessed some ill deed was 
on hand, and we saw well what it would be when 
three horsemen came riding down the pass — the 
tallest and best of them Kiartan Olafson. I had 
fain warned him of his danger, but my master 
bade me lie close nor meddle in great folks’ 
affairs, by which only harm comes to poor men.” 

On came Kiartan merry and fearless, singing 
a brave old song in Odin’s honor, when he was 
startled by a sudden blast from the Bathstead 
horn. He saw the murderous band with Bodli 
at their head, and he and his men leaped from 
their horses, and stood at bay in front of a rock. 

Kiartan never looked nobler nor of higher 
courage than when he thus stood waiting the 
onslaught of his treacherous enemies, yet when 
he saw Bodli among them his face changed, and 


258 Stories From William Morris 

for a second his hands fell to his side — for a sec- 
ond only, then his spear whistled through the 
air, and Thorolf fell to the ground with a mighty 
crash. For a space naught could be seen but 
the confused gleam of swords, nor heard save 
the clash of steel on steel, the ring of armor, and 
the sharp cry or groan that told when a stroke 
went home. 

Only Bodli Thorleikson, pale as death, stood 
looking on nor sharing in the fierce struggle. 

Out of breath, the combatants paused a short 
space, and with taunts and threats the brothers 
urged Bodli to join the fray. Unable to move 
him, they rushed once more upon the three, who 
stood close and as yet unhurt. 

Soon An the Black fell, but not unavenged, 
for Oswif’s nephew Gudlaug in turn dropped to 
the ground, a limb hewn off by Kiartan’s sword. 
Thorarin had taken to flight, pursued by two of 
Oswif’s men-at-arms, and Kiartan was left alone 
in the midst of his enemies, with mail-coat torn 
and sword dinted and bent, breathless, but still 
unwounded. 

Bodli stood like one in a dream till Ospak 
lifted his hand, and struck him in the face, cry- 
ing : “ Go home, coward and traitor — safe and 
whole, carry thy shame back to Gudrun ! ” 


The Lovers of Gudrun 


259 

Still he moved not till Kiartan called his name 
aloud ; when he met the friendly eyes he covered 
his face with his mailed hand, and trembled like 
one in a palsy. 

Kiartan’s words came loud and clear : They 
are right, my foster-brother, dear friend of olden 
days ! Thy part is indeed with Gudrun’s house. 
Then strike, and end this strife. The blow is 
already forgiven.” 

Bodli drew his sword slowly, and turned to- 
ward Kiartan with wild eyes and heavy, unwill- 
ing steps. It seemed at first as if Kiartan would 
defend himself to the end ; he lifted his sword, 
then with a weary smile let it drop to the ground, 
and in a flash Bodli’s weapon was buried deep in 
his unguarded side. 

The slayer flung himself on his friend with 
loud lamentations and frantic prayers for for- 
giveness, but the dying man had no more words 
for him ; with one last cry of Farewell, Gud- 
run ! ” he fell back dead upon Bodli’s breast. 

The sons of Oswif hastened home to Bath- 
stead with news of the fight, and Bodli was left 
alone on the hillside with his dead. 

Such was the story of the slaying of Kiartan as 
told by the herdsman and his master. 

When bearers came to carry away the slain 


26 o Stories From William Morris 


they found Bodli bending over the still, white 
face, and talking earnestly, as if his friend could 
yet hear and answer. Silently he followed as 
they bore Kiartan to Bathstead and laid him in 
the hall with due honor and observance. 

To Gudrun, who met him in the porch, the 
words of Bodli were few. “ I have done thy will 
— is it enough ? ” No answer came, and he went 
on : “I did it for thy sake, Gudrun. Speak to 
me one word of comfort.” All the notice she 
took was to put out her hand toward him, but 
whether to show some pity or to thrust him from 
her, he never knew, for just then the bearers 
came tramping through the hall, and they were 
separated. 

Next night there were heavy hearts round the 
board at Herdholt as Olaf raised his cup and 
bade all drink to the best man Iceland ever knew. 
Deeply they drank to Kiartan, and told tales of 
his valor, while Thorgerd listened, her heart 
filled with wild rage against his murderer. Draw- 
ing King Olaf’s sword from under her cloak, she 
threw it on the table, and swore on it that ere 
three summers were over, Bodli should die, must 
it even be by her own hand. 

Stern shouts from her sons rang through the 
hall ; but Olaf rose slowly, and took the jeweled 


The Lovers of Gudrun 261 

sword in his hand, and broke it across his knees. 
He threw the pieces on the floor, and spoke thus : 
“ Gone is gone, nor would the death of Bodli 
bring back our Kiartan. If indeed ye must 
avenge you, fall on the base sons of Oswif, not 
on Bodli, who was but as the sword in their 
hands.” 

All that day the sons of Oswif had lain hid 
den, in terror of the vengeance of the Herdholt 
men. In vain they begged for succor from 
friends and neighbors — all said the deed was 
basely done, and they must look to their own 
swords to protect them. Next morning it seemed 
to them that their doom was near when they saw 
Olaf, his sons and dependants, and a great crowd 
of countryfolk, approaching their stead. In 
solemn procession they came, but not to kill. 
Having claimed their dead, they bore him home 
in silence to rest in peace among his forefathers. 

The sons of Oswif need not have felt such 
fear, for men’s hearts were weary of strife, and no 
one sought to slay them. Only they suffered 
fines and outlawry and the contempt of all men 
of noble minds. 

Olaf lived three years only after his beloved 
Kiartan’s death, Then his sons remembered 
their mother Thorgerd’s oath, and on a day they 


262 Stories From William Morris 


set upon Bodli, so that he died under their 
swords, defending himself gallantly to the last. 
Refna went home, broken-hearted, to her father’s 
house, and ere long she faded away, and found 
rest in the grave from all her sorrows. As for 
Gudrun, she felt after the slaughter of Bodli, that 
Bathstead, with all its bitter memories, was no 
longer a home for her, and she left it, to dwell in 
Holyfell by the sea. 

There she lived in peace and reared her sons, 
and when they were grown and had gone out 
into the world, she wedded Thorkel, a man of 
might, and held in high honor in Iceland. But 
in him too was Guest’s prophecy fulfilled, and ere 
many years had passed, he sank among the 
stormy waves of the firth. 

Gudrun was again left alone and widowed, yet 
she bore herself with a high spirit, nor gave way 
to unseemly grief even when her sight failed, for 
more and more in her heart there grew the hope 
of a life to come. 

One summer evening she sat at Holyfell with 
her son Bodli, who had come to see her after 
long journeyings — a gallant man like his father, 
that other Bodli, and a doer of mighty deeds. 
The air was sweet with the scent of new-mown 
hay; and the chiming of the chapel bells, the 


The Lovers of Gudrun 263 

murmur of the sea, and the singing of their own 
house-carles on their way home from the fields, 
came softly to their ears. After long silence 
Bodli spoke. ** Of these dead men whom thou 
knewest long ago, mother, which didst thou love 
the best ? 

Slowly she answered : Thorkel my husband 

was a great and wise chief ; and never was there 
a mightier man in arms than Bodli thy father, and 
well thou wouldest have loved him. Thord, too, 
was a great man, and learned and wise in council. 
As for Thorwald, he was like a stinging weed 
that men pull up and cast away.” 

Bodli smiled. “ Still, mother, thou hast not 
told me what I desired to know.” 

Then, with sightless eyes that yet seemed to 
gaze at Herdholt through the gray distance, and 
hands stretched out for those whom she had lost, 
and tremulous voice, Gudrun answered softly : 

I did the worst, my son, to him whom I loved 
the best ! ” 


The Lady of the Land 

A PARTY of Italians, who had been roam 
ing the seas in search of fame and for- 
tune, anchored one morning in the bay 
of a small island off the shores of Greece. Not 
looking for any adventure in this quiet little spot, 
one of the seafarers, a young nobleman of Flor- 
ence, left his companions, and wandered idly by 
himself far inland. 

In the course of his rambles he came to a valley, 
thick with tangled copse and tall cypress-trees. 
High above the green expanse of woodland rose 
the ruins, of what had once been a magnificent 
castle. But the days of its splendor were far 
past. For long, long years the gardens had been 
untended, the grass grew rank on the terraces, 
and the stream that had once splashed its clear 
waters into the marble-paved pools beneath the 
lawns now gurgled amongst a forest of tall weeds 
and rushes that almost choked its passage. 

Making his way to the deserted castle, the 
young Italian passed the remains of a temple, its 
carved pillars and altar of smooth black stone all 
264 


The Lady of the Land 265 

that were left from the decay of centuries. Close 
by the temple ruins stood the gateway of the 
castle. The doors had long since disappeared, 
but the solid archway was still complete, and above 
his head the stranger could see upon a slab some 
carving of a huge serpent coiled around its prey 
— a winged creature, but of what shape could not 
be learned from the weather-beaten old stone. 
Beyond the gateway he found a cloistered court, 
where briers ran wild upon the pillars and over- 
grew the fountain that had once played in the 
centre of the enclosure. The statues of many a 
Greek god and goddess lay shattered by the hand 
of superstitious peasants, who had feared such 
images might harbor evil for their country. The 
head of Jupiter was hewn off, Apollo the swift- 
footed was now lamed, Venus was hidden in a 
mass of rubbish, and Diana no more fit for the 
race than her twin-brother Apollo, in that she 
was bound ankle to ankle by the rusty cable of . a 
wrecked ship. 

The Florentine examined every room in the 
castle with interest. They were all of handsome 
size, and showed that in its day the building had 
been wonderfully fine, though now that it stood 
bare and empty it was hard to imagine its past 
splendor. Having mounted to the highest tur- 


266 Stories From William Morris 

ret, from which he looked far across country to 
the Italian boat lying at anchor in the quiet sea, 
he returned to the hall, and would have left the 
castle, satisfied that he had explored it thoroughly, 
when he remembered that he had not seen the 
dungeons. 

A few steps led him to a crypt beneath the 
hall, where he noticed, at the farther end, a stout 
door set on hinges. It was new and undecayed, 
and attracted by its contrast to the ruins around, 
and anxious to see if perchance some one were 
living in these underground parts, he threw it 
open. The air of the room he entered was fresh 
and warm, and quite unlike the closeness of a 
vault. As for the furnishings of the place, they 
were most exquisite. The walls were covered 
with rich hangings, the floor inlaid with precious 
stone ; there were daintily carved ivory chairs set 
about the room, with piles of soft cushions, and 
in the corner stood a pretty couch of Eastern 
workmanship. 

The wealth and beauty of the place filled the 
young Florentine with awe, for there was some- 
thing unearthly in its charm, and he feared that 
it might be a trap set by an evil spirit to ensnare 
the rash adventurer. 

But curiosity overcame his fear. Another 


The Lady of the Land 267 

door faced him on the opposite side of the room, 
and hastily crossing the mosaic floor, he raised 
the silver latch, and found himself standing in a 
treasury of pure gold ! Gold coins were stacked 
upon the floor, with here and there a great caul- 
dron made of the same metal ; the walls and roof 
were gold-plated, and the very tables in the room 
were solid gold. The only place where his eye 
did not catch a gleam of yellow was in the bowl- 
fuls of precious gems and the piles of costly 
purple robes that formed part of the treasure in 
this underground storehouse. 

On a panel above another doorway he saw in 
raised figures of gold a serpent twining its coils 
around its victim — the same shapes that he had 
noticed on the worn stones above the castle en- 
trance — only in this case the second form was as 
easily distinguished as the serpent : it was a 
maiden, with wide-spread wings upon her shoul- 
ders, who was struggling in vain against the 
tightening clasp of the monster ! 

As he stood lost in wonder beneath this carv- 
ing, he heard the murmur of a soft voice behind 
the door. A lady as fair as the place she lived 
in, would be of no common beauty, thought he, 
and eagerly he opened the third door. 

Gold again ! Yes ; masses of it. The first 


d- 


268 Stories From William Morris 


thing he saw was the golden hair of a lady, rip- 
pling in waves down to the very floor, as she sat 
combing it on an ivory throne by the steps that 
led to her deep-set marble bath. Her eyes were 
bent downward, and, not seeing the door pushed 
ajar, she went on murmuring in sad tones : “ An- 
other day flown, and no one has come ! An- 
other year of cruel misery for me ! ” 

Hardly had she spoken when she raised her 
head, and, shaking aside her tresses, met the eager 
gaze of the stranger. 

He was slowly preparing to address her, but so 
great a difficulty had he in finding words that 
she was the first to break the silence. She asked 
him why he came — was it in hopes of carrying 
away some of the treasures of the place ? A 
vain hope, since she could work spells to protect 
them against any fortune-seeker. Or could it be 
that he came not for gold, but for love of her, 
knowing her story ? 

Her timid yet entreating glance, her beauty 
and her pretty Greek talk, had charmed the 
Florentine so completely that he could only an- 
swer in her tongue how ready he would be to 
help her, if she would tell him what had to be 
done. A stranger from a far country, who knew 
nothing of the castle or its owners, he would 


The Lady of the Land 269 

count it happiness to learn how he might risk his 
life to win her favor. 

“ You are a gallant knight,” cried the lady, 
** and a brave one too, I think. Listen to the 
tale of my misery. In pity for me you will per- 
haps dare the deed that will free me from the fate 
I have suffered these four hundred years. You 
start ! But that is the time I have lived under 
the ban of Diana’s anger. 

“ My father was lord of this island long ago. 
He built the castle, and by his cunning he drew 
all the gold that you have seen here put of the 
hard gray rocks. He had knowledge above 
other men, for he could make a garden of the 
wilderness, and by his skill in herbs he could 
bring back the sick from the gates of death. 
But of one thing he had no understanding : he 
knew nothing of a maiden’s heart. I was his only 
child, and he vowed to Diana that I should be 
her handmaid, serve in her temple which stood 
by the castle gate, and remain ever unwed. 
Oh ! why did he so rashly pledge a young girl’s 
love to the goddess ? By my twentieth summer 
I had a lover to whom I could not help giving 
my whole heart. In my love to him I was false 
to Diana, and in dire anger at my broken vows 
the goddess caused my lover’s death, ended my 


2'jo Stories From William Morris 

father’s days in grief, and then when all my 
friends were gone, she wreaked her vengeance 
on me. 

“ I was changed into a hideous, fork-tongued 
dragon, doomed to lie all day guarding the 
treasure in this storehouse; while at night I 
must range the island or sport with other mon- 
sters in the green sed, to the terror of many a poor 
sailor at the helm. 

“ One day in each year Diana grants me to ap- 
pear as the maiden I once was, so that if any 
man visit the castle within these short twelve 
hours, I may tell him how he can free me from 
this dreadful fate, and earn the gratitude and the 
love of the mortal woman whom you see before 
you to-day. 

“ At nightfall I must once more put on the 
form of a hateful dragon, and writhe and pant in 
that guise without the power of showing what I 
am. I must be the most hideous, the most ter- 
rifying of monsters. 

“ Yet come to-morrow to the castle, and when 
this great ugly beast rushes out upon you, fear 
not to take its head between your hands, and, 
lover-like, kiss it gently on the lips. The mo- 
ment you do so you shall be master of all the 
wealth of the place, and lord too of the happy 



THE LADY OF THE LAND. 
(From a drawing by Evelyn Paul.) 




The Lady of the Land 271 

maiden who will straightway stand before you 
freed once for all from the shape of the dragon.” 

How easy the task seemed to the Florentine 
as he promised the lady he would be there with- 
out fail next morning to do as she had directed ! 
The fair one drew from her neck a glittering gem, 
pressed it into his hand, saying that it would 
serve to remind him that this strange story was 
not a dream, and having done so she glided from 
the room, nor could he follow her footsteps. A 
long time he wandered on the island before he 
turned back to his comrades, and over and over 
again he rehearsed to himself the morrow’s meet- 
ing with the dragon. Had man ever been shown 
an easier way to win stores of gold, a fair country, 
and the most charming of brides ? 

It was still early next morning when our Flor- 
entine stole back from the ship across the pretty 
little island to the courtyard of the deserted 
castle. A strange, rattling sound at once caught 
his ears as he entered the gateway, and, thankful 
that he had armed himself fully, he grasped his 
sword, awaiting with fast-beating heart the ap- 
pearance of his beloved lady in disguise. To 
steady his nerve he kept telling himself that 
whatever form she took, it could never be really 
frightful. But every second that he stood there he 


2/2 Stories From William Morris 

trembled the more. The harsh rattling changed 
to a grating sound, mingled with loud roars, and 
sometimes there arose a shrill note of anger, that 
again turned to a wail of despair. Suddenly all 
this noise ceased, and at the same moment the 
man saw the bloodshot eyeballs of an enormous 
beast glare straight at him from the darkness of 
the hall. So long did these hot eyes rest upon 
him that his brain began to reel. “ If she wears 
such a hideous form as this,” he muttered, 
surely she can never have been a hapless, inno- 
cent maid.” 

Then the beast raised its rasping cries anew, 
and its scales clattered on the paving stones, as 
it started to wind its way toward the man. In 
its teeth it held the mangled body of a goat, 
whose hair and blood were sticking about the 
awful mouth and the long forked tongue of the 
creature. Close up it crept to the man’s side, 
dropped the torn parts of the goat at his feet, 
and raised its scaly throat till its sickening, hot 
breath blew right into his face. 

It was too much for the Florentine. He 
shrieked with horror. Utterly forgetful of his 
purpose, he struck blindly at the monster with 
his sword, then turned, and rushed out of the 
gateway ! The moan of despair that followed 


The Lady of the Land 273 

him was almost human ; it rang out piteously, as 
if the Lady of the Land were again a troubled 
mortal. But the grisly dragon could not play the 
part of the winsome maid who yesterday had es- 
caped for a few hours from that hateful shape. 
To check its moans it seized a great rock, and 
ground it savagely to powder between its jaws ; 
then it crept pitifully down to the vaults, to mount 
guard forever and a day over the countless treas- 
ure of gold, for never again did a man venture to 
face the monster that he might restore to the 
poor lady her true form. 

What befell the Florentine that he could not, 
for love of the lady, have braced himself to return 
and lay his lips firmly on the dragon’s mouth ? 
After that breathless flight from the castle back 
to his comrades in their stout boat, he flung him- 
self half senseless into the hold, and when words 
came to his tongue they were wild and raving, so 
that none could gather what ailed him. For 
three days he lay calling on death to set him free ; 
and on the. third day death came, and his com- 
rades laid his body to rest beneath the pome- 
granate-trees of Byzantium. 


The Story of Rhodope 


B etween a range of lofty snow-capped 
mountains and the shores of the blue 
Mediterranean there stretches a certain 
fair land, sheltered alike from the cruel cold of 
winter and the scorching rays of the mid-summer 
sun. There, long ago, dwelt a peasant race, sim- 
ple and hard-working, who kept their thoughts 
upon their homely duties. None wandered 
through the mountain passes to find what lay be- 
yond the s,ncrwy barriers, none ventured oversea ; 
they were content to spend their days working 
in the fields amongst their flocks and herds, their 
golden crops or leafy vine-rows. It was not only 
in outdoor work that they busied themselves. In 
the winter evenings the women would sit by their 
spinning-wheels, while the men carved soft pop- 
lar wood into bowls and spoons and ornaments of 
every shape. Just as their country knew neither 
extreme degree of heat nor cold, so, as a rule, they 
themselves reached neither a high degree of wealth 
nor, on the other hand, sank to the depths of 
poverty. In most homes there was enough and to 
274 


The Story of Rhodope 


275 

spare, so that when news was carried to the up- 
lands that a foreign ship had cast anchor in the 
bay, it was thought no foolish extravagance to go 
and exchange the homespun cloth, carved bowls, 
wine or honey for the jewels and embroidered 
robes that the strangers might offer. These treas- 
ures the thrifty peasants carefully laid by, only 
to see the light on wedding festivals and holi- 
days. 

In this land of modest plenty and prosperity 
lived one couple who, unlike their neighbors, 
grew poorer and poorer as time passed on. No 
one could say why, but nothing went well with 
them. The man worked diligently, his wife was 
skilful in all household matters, yet unforeseen 
misfortunes attended them year after year. The 
horses on the farm went lame, the cattle sickened 
and died, or the crops were ruined by heavy 
floods in the harvesting. 

Not always, however, had the honest pair been 
so unfortunate. In their earlier married life they 
were as prosperous as any in the land, and had 
little more to desire than what was theirs already. 
One gift only they lacked — a child to gladden 
their quiet home, which, with all its comforts, 
seemed to them empty and cheerless since no 
young voice rang through its rooms. Often they 


276 Stories From William Morris 

would pray the gods to send them the blessing 
of children, though it were in exchange for all the 
gifts they now enjoyed. 

For twenty years they hoped in vain, then 
when hope was almost dead, their hearts’ desire 
was fulfilled, and a baby girl came to their home 
one mild March day. The goodman never forgot 
that afternoon, when the thrush’s early spring 
song was heard from the budding lime-trees ; the 
sky was a cloudless blue, and the blackthorn 
hedge a dazzling line of white blossom. But it 
was not for its beauty that he remembered the 
day in after years. He had fallen asleep in the 
hall when his morning work was over, and in his 
sleep a strange dream visited him. He and his 
wife seemed to be bending hand-in-hand over an 
exquisite little flower that grew in their garden. 
The day at first was bright with sunshine, but as 
they stood there the sky became clouded, and 
blinding rain and bitter winds swept down upon 
them. In that bleak weather the fair flower grew 
to a tall young sapling, which still the old couple 
loved as before. Their love was mingled with 
wonder when they saw a bright flame blaze up 
around the cherished plant and hide it from 
them. Then weariness seemed to fall on the 
goodman and his wife, and in his dream he felt 


The Story of Rhodope 277 

that they had died. The young tree still flourished 
after they were gone. It grew to a wonderful 
size, and on its branches hung golden crowns and 
glittering swords, great ships of war and stately 
temples, while the wind bore from it the noise of 
trumpet blasts and clanging armor and the sound 
of strange foreign tongues. 

This dream perplexed the goodman, but did 
not vex him, for though he could put no certain 
meaning upon it, it somehow seemed to him a 
prophecy of great things to come. And the hap- 
piness that welled up in his heart as he rose from 
sleep and made his way among his thriving stock 
and well-filled barns, was perfected that evening 
when he looked for the first time upon his infant 
daughter’s face. 

In gratefulness for this most precious gift of 
heaven, he held a splendid banquet on the mor- 
row, loading his guests with handsome gifts, and 
making solemn sacrifice to the gods. 

When the child was a year old a second feast 
was given in her honor, but this time, although 
the goodman was as liberal as he could be, there 
was less to offer from his fields and storehouses. 
His fortunes were clearly on the wane. From 
year to year, as the little golden-haired child grew 
and increased in beauty, so did her father’s goods 


278 Stories From William Morris 

diminish, till at the time our story begins, when 
Rhodope saw her nineteenth summer, poverty 
and distress had crushed all joy out of her 
parents’ hearts. The burden of misfortune left 
its mark on the young girl no less than on the 
old people. There was no mirthfulness in 
Rhodope’s voice, and seldom a smile on her 
grave, sweet face. She took her part in the 
humble duties of the house, doing her tasks 
deftly and untiringly ; no complaint, no sigh to 
escape from grinding poverty, ever crossed her 
lips, yet it was plain her heart was not in the life 
she was living, and much her father wondered 
what thoughts lay behind her qui^t brow and 
dreamy, gray eyes. 

That she had no wish to find a new and more 
prosperous home in the circle of their wealthier 
neighbors, she had shown time after time in her 
refusal of the numerous suitors who had asked 
for her hand. The country people who knew 
her best, felt that there was a gulf fixed between 
Rhodope and themselves, and that, reason or 
no reason, she must always stand aloof from 
them. 

One June evening father, mother, and daughter 
were sitting together in the great half-furnished 
hall, when the goodman fell to telling the others 


The Story of Rhodope 279 

of an adventure he had had in his early days. It 
was a tale of pirates whom he and his comrades 
had once encountered in the bay. 

“ Ay, but we beat them in the end,” he said. 
“ We got their ship grounded on the beach, and 
then came our turn at plundering ! The dragon’s 
head that hangs above the door of Jove’s temple 
in our market- town, was torn from the prow of 
their vessel, and the roof of that house of refuge 
on the shore was made of the stout oars that we 
carried off from our thieving friends. I warrant 
you their fine ship did not fly so fast across the 
bay by the time that we had done with her ! 

“ But what pleased me most was our own share 
of the booty — silver and gold, heavy armor, and 
princely clothing. We drew lots for it all. Oh, 
to see my portion of it to-night in this bare hall ! 
Wine and honey I brought home, a noble helmet, 
half of it solid gold, and a purple robe stiff with 
embroidery — ah, my little girl, how well it would 
have set off thy pretty form ! 

Of all that booty we have only two things 
left : first, the bow and arrows that hang yonder 
— they were too plain to fetch a good price, and 
for that reason I have kept them for my own use. 
And the other treasure, wife? It lies at the bot- 
tom of that oak chest, does it not ? Light the 


28 o Stories From William Morris 


taper for ‘ a moment, and we will show it to 
Rhodope.” 

With something akin to eagerness, the old 
people crossed the floor, glancing, as they went, 
to see if Rhodope shared their interest. But the 
girl hardly noticed their movements ; she sat gaz- 
ing through the open window at the stars that 
were fast lighting up the sky, and when she 
turned her eyes, it was only to watch some bat 
flitting past in the dark shadow of the house. 

In the corner of the hall the goodman bent 
over the chest, on which his wife was throwing 
the light of a candle, and, turning over the coarse 
homespun webs that filled the greater part of 
their treasure-chest, he drew from the depths an 
embroidered silken cloth, and carefully un- 
wrapped from its folds a pair of lady’s shoes. 
But what shoes ! Gems of priceless value glit- 
tered in the green and golden needlework, like 
flowers in an April meadow where the sunshine 
streams through the fresh, young blades of 
grass. 

Rhodope came at her mother’s call, and the 
sight of the wonderful treasures brought an un- 
wonted color to her face. She could not repress 
a cry of delight. Gently she drew her hand over 
the jeweled shoes ; then suddenly she turned away 


The Story of Rhodope 281 

without a word, and, with set face, took up a 
piece of household work. 

Her father at length broke silence. “ Long 
have I kept these gauds, partly because no one 
in the land could offer me a fair price for them, 
partly because I ever trusted we should not be in 
such straits for long, but most of all because a 
sage once told me there lay in them the promise 
of better fortune. Alack ! our needs are more 
pressing than ever; to meet them, I must part at 
last with my treasure. 

“ So, Rhodope, to-morrow thou shalt take thy 
way across the hill to Jove’s temple, and bid the 
high priest say what he will give for these dainty 
shoes. Long he has wished them to deck his 
daughter’s feet when she leads the sacrifice be- 
fore the altar. Belike he will be ready to pay a 
generous price.” 

As he spoke Rhodope flushed hotly. Her 
mother saw her heightened color, and drew the 
goodman’s attention to it. 

“ Our daughter feels the shame of going as a 
beggar to the house where she might have gone 
as a bride. Ah ! my girl, it was a sad mistake to 
look coldly on the high priest’s son ! ” 

“ Hush ! Hush ! ” cried the goodman. “ We 
would not have Rhodope’s bridal before she finds 


282 Stories From William Morris 


the right mate. Why, there's many a tale of how 
a fair maid remained unwed till a prince came to 
claim her. Eh, child, is that what thou’rt wait- 
ing for? ” 

His kindly, jesting words silenced his wife, but 
brought no smile to the girl’s lips. For a moment 
Rhodope’s eyes were raised to her father’s ; he 
saw her face was unmoved, and with a sigh for 
her ungirlish gravity, the old man turned from 
her, and settled to his task of basket weaving. 

Next morning Rhodope set off early on her 
journey to the temple, the jeweled shoes safely 
wrapped up, and hidden in her bosom. Like a 
queen she passed the groups of men and maidens 
busy in the vineyards ; she gave a gentle answer 
to their noisy greetings, but did not stop to join 
in their talk. Her mother watched from the door- 
way as she glided swiftly on her w^ay between the 
green hedgerows. 

“ Too proud to exchange a word with her 
neighbors,” she murmured. “ Faith, for all her 
poverty our child looks down on the highest in 
the land ! ” 

Her mother was wrong, however. It was not 
pride, but simply want of interest in those around 
her, that kept Rhodope apart from the country- 
folk. To-day her thoughts were, as usual, far 



SHE WANDERED WITH DAINTY STEPS 
(From a drawing’ by G. D. Hammond.) 














. I 

I 

k 

-'•r 

1 





•» 


» r. 



The Story of Rhodope 283 

away, dwelling on the dim chances that life held, 
and her gray eyes were full of trouble mingled 
with half-awakened hope. “ Shall I never know 
content?” she murmured. “How I long to 
escape from the dull, spiritless life at home to 
some brighter place where I should feel that I am 
really living ! Each day I pass is like the one 
that went before and the one that will come after 
it, irksome and uneventful. But oh ! how thank- 
less am I that I cannot rest happy amongst these 
good, kind-hearted neighbors ! If all my life is 
to be spent here, why am I so little drawn to 
them ? ” 

Musing thus, she had left the low ground, and 
slowly mounted uphill between banks of heath 
and red-trunked pines, till, having reached the 
summit, she now started on the bare downward 
road toward the temple. Suddenly she heard her 
name called in a clear voice from the rocks above, 
and as she stopped to listen, a well built young 
fellow, comely and honest, came bounding from 
stone to stone down the hillside. 

“ Rhodope,” he cried eagerly, “ art going to our 
house this morning ? On business, thou sayest, 
with my father ? He only comes home at night- 
fall, for he has been seafaring these two last days. 
But come, my mother will see thou hast a pleas- 


284 Stories From William Morris 

ant rest in the noonday heat, and in the evening, 
I pray thee, let me guide thee back across the hill. 
Thou knowest well my joy to be near thee, and 
my hope some day to win thy hand.” 

“ I must go on to the temple,” answered the 
girl firmly, “ for I carry with me a small offering 
that my mother was fain to send this midsummer. 
But I must go alone. Nay, it is to save thee 
further pain that I now bid thee good-day. 
Never could I learn to love thee as a bride ought. 
Sometimes, methinks, I am in a dream, because I 
cannot share the love and joys that others feel. 
Forget my cold, hard face, and find thee a mate 
loving and light-hearted.” 

The truthfulness that rang in Rhodope’s tones 
showed her suitor that further pleading was vain. 
Sadly he turned away from her, and she, touched 
by his sorrow, went onward with tears in her 
eyes. 

At the foot of the hill lay a dark wood, and by 
its side a little lake that glistened like crystal be- 
neath the fierce June sun. Rhodope stood a 
while on the bridge that spanned a rippling 
stream above the lake. ^She felt nothing now but 
the drowsiness of overpowering heat and the 
fatigue of her long morning’s walk. Instead of 
continuing toward the temple, whose roof she 


The^ Story of Rhodope 285 

could see above the distant trees, she wandered 
from the bridge to the riverside, and along its 
grassy banks to the cool shade of the woods, 
where she threw herself down beneath a thick 
oak. From her bosom she drew the rich silk 
cloth that enfolded the jeweled shoes. These she 
unwrapped, and fingered lightly, smiling to see 
the gems sparkle when the sunlight touched 
them. She fell to wondering for whom the fair 
gift had been made, and what strange chance 
had brought it through the pirates’ hands into 
her keeping. What a contrast such gear was to 
her own rough clothing! She smiled again to 
think that she, the poorest maid in the land, 
should carry the richest of court shoes. Then, 
lulled by the soft lapping of the water on its peb- 
bly beach, Rhodope dropped asleep. 

When she awakened there was her midday 
meal to take from her basket, and to eat, with a 
draught of cool, clear water from the stream. 
The marvelous shoes were glittering in the sun- 
shine beside her, and as she finished her meal, she 
bent forward dreamily, raised one by the latch et, 
and no less dreamily slipped it and its neighbor 
on to her slim feet, from which she had cast off 
her own coarse sandals. Then she picked up 
what things she had thrown about her — her 


286 Stories From William Morris 


basket, sandals, and the silk wrapping — and wan- 
dered with dainty steps through the checkered 
woodland, where the shoes now gleamed in 
the shadow and now shone dazzlingly in the 
sun. 

At length her steps led her to the edge of the 
lake. A gentle breeze was stirring the water into 
little ripples, that broke on a patch of white sand 
below the flowery meadow skirting the woods. 
Rhodope saw there could be no more lovely spot 
at which to bathe. She cast aside the shoes that 
had borne her thither, slipped off her dress, and 
glided far into the lake. The harsh cry of a bird 
startled her before she had played long in the 
cool, deep water, and, looking up, she saw a 
great eagle hovering against the rocky hillside. 
Then suddenly the bird came swooping down to- 
ward the lake. She heard the rustle of his wings 
close by her, saw him light for an instant on the 
strip of sand, and rise again with something 
gleaming within his strong talons. He had 
borne off one of the fateful shoes ! 

Yes ; she had lost irrecoverably the half of her 
father’s treasure, and the poor little court shoe 
that still lay on the sand would bring nothing 
without its mate. There was no way, however, 
to make good the loss. When she had dressed 


The Story of Rhodope 287 

again, she had to turn homeward with the single 
shoe, since it was no use now to visit the temple. 
In spite of her dismay, she almost laughed to 
think how once more fortune had been unkind 
to her house. “ Yet,” said she, “ to-day’s sorrow 
is often to-morrow’s joy.” And she beguiled her 
sadness on the long, homeward walk by weaving 
fancies of how the lost shoe might yet bring her 
wealth and happiness. 

These pleasant day-dreams, however, were 
chased away by the bitter words of blame which 
she heard from her mother’s lips, when she told 
the old people of her mishap. 

For long the poor woman chided her daughter 
angrily until tears choked her words. Then the 
goodman rose, and left his carving, over which 
he had been bending, silent as Rhodope herself. 
He stroked the girl’s hand tenderly, and struggled 
to find something to say of good cheer. 

Thou wilt come to better days ere long, my 
little Rhodope,” he murmured. “ Heed not thy 
mother ; she is over-vexed to-night.” And al- 
though Rhodope still sat silent and unmoved, he 
talked on brightly, facing his difficulties bravely, 
and speaking of how he might best combat them, 
until he won his wife back to cheerfulness and 
smiles. 


288 Stories From William Morris 


In spite, however, of his hopeful nature, there 
were times when the goodman despaired of ever 
hearing Rhodope speak freely to him. His sad, 
sunken eyes searched her face in vain for traces 
of softening ; and yet, though he could not break 
through her reserve, he felt that in her own cold, 
unresponsive way she cared deeply for him. Only 
once did he gain his wish and hear her voice 
thrill with deep feeling. His wife had one day 
been urging him to pick the jewels from the re- 
maining costly shoe, to sell them separately, and 
let the embroidered work in which they were set, 
be thrown into the fire. 

“ When the gems are torn out of the silk 
groundwork we will get a good price for them, 
and I can have the satisfaction of throwing the 
last rags of the hateful, mischief-bearing finery 
into the flames. I wish with all my heart it were 
as easy to make an end of the rags of Rhodope's 
pride and folly ; she hardly condescends to speak 
to any of us nowadays.” 

A torrent of impatient, fretful words followed 
this beginning. Thankful when it was over and 
his wife had flung herself out of the room, the 
goodman crossed to Rhodope, who all the time 
had been quietly sitting at work with her spin- 
ning-wheel in a corner of the room. He stood 


The Story of Rhodope 289 

watching her busy fingers for some minutes be- 
fore he spoke. 

** I have never been wise enough to choose the 
right road to fortune,” he began simply, “ and I 
cannot trust my own choice to-day. Rhodope, 
my child, should those jewels be torn out of the 
shoe, and sold as thy mother has advised ? lam 
loth to destroy the last remains of our riches ; 
and further, it may be that the seer was right 
when he said that the shoes gave promise of 
better things to come. Didst ever hear of the 
dream I had before thy birth ? ” he ended ab- 
ruptly. 

The girl’s face showed a gleam of interest. ** I 
have heard something of it,” she answered as 
carelessly as she could, “ but never paid much 
heed to the idle tale ; if thou hast any faith in it, 
I would fain hear thy dream once more.” 

Her father smiled. “ Nay, nay ; I see thou 
knowest it every whit as well as I. Fate will 
come to our aid. Keep thou the shoe, daughter. 
We two believe that the dream pointed to a 
prosperous issue.” 

Then it was that Rhodope showed her father 
how dear she held him. She pushed aside her 
wheel, and threw her arms round the old man's 
neck. 


290 Stories From William Morris 

“ How kind and patient thou art, father ! ” she 
whispered, “ and I, how seemingly cold ! I can- 
not gladden thee with laughter and merry talk in 
this house of dead hopes. Ah ! if we could be 
set free to live another life ! ” 

From this it came about that the shoe was 
given into Rhodope’s keeping, and that the good- 
man looked on her with greater love and trust- 
fulness once she had opened her heart to him. 

Twelve months went past, bringing some small 
measure of prosperity to the household. The 
old man joyed in the thought that his work might 
still change Rhodope’s hard lot to one of comfort. 
He and his wife, he said to himself, were used to 
hardships, but their only child was young, and he 
longed to give her the happiness that youth ex- 
pects. For her sake he worked early and late, 
and for love of her his toil seemed to him light. 

Again it was a warm morning in June, again 
Rhodope was on the road from her home — this 
time, however, her steps were bent toward the 
market-town on the shore. She was on her way 
to do some small errands, but before she had 
gone half way, she slowly turned, and sought her 
home again. What it was that forced her to re- 
turn and take the long-hidden court shoe from her 
chest she could not have told. Was it some frag- 


The Story of Rhodope 291 

meat of gossip that had floated to her ears from 
a passing wayfarer — of rich foreigners who had 
yesterday moored their galley in the harbor be- 
yond the market-town ? She told herself that to 
yield to the impulse was idle folly, but, all the 
same, she retraced her steps, and when she left 
her home the second time, she carried the shoe 
hidden in the folds of her dress. 

On the road she saw numbers of countryfolk 
flocking to the seaport, apparently to chaffer with 
the foreign seamen, as was their custom. She 
overheard some talk about the newcomers and 
all their splendor, but her curiosity did not 
prompt her to join the stream of people who 
were flocking toward the market-place, and her 
errands were over before she thought of turning 
into the crowded square. When she did so, she 
saw that the priests were offering sacrifice at the 
altar of Juno’s temple which stood in the centre 
of the market-place. Around the steps of the 
temple clustered a company of strangers, mag- 
nificently robed in gold and purple. Rhodope’s 
eyes grew bright with wonder; awakened to a 
lively interest, she looked so lovely that the 
peasant-folk turned to gaze on her, and made 
way before her until she reached the open space 
at the temple. Then a look of glad surprise 


292 Stories From William Morris 

swept across her face, and added a new radiance 
The courtly strangers, like the peasants, marveled 
at her beauty; but Rhodope did not feel their 
intent gaze, for her eyes were bent on a tripod 
beside the altar. There gleamed the dainty shoe 
that she had lost a year ago ! 

She crossed to the steps, and fearlessly, yet 
quietly, addressed the foreign courtiers. 

Perchance ye seek a match for the jeweled 
shoe that lies yonder. I have it with me. A 
year ago I wore the two, and sore was my 
father’s heart when I lost one of these gauds. 
'Twill give him joy to hear that it has been 
found.” 

As she spoke, she drew the precious shoe from 
the folds of her dress, and laid it beside its mate. 
A cry of joyful wonder burst from the crowd 
when they saw her stand beside the tripod, the 
most lovely maiden in the land, dressed in her 
coarse gray robe, yet looking a very queen in 
her unconscious beauty. 

One of the elder strangers, the chief ambas- 
sador, rose to make answer : 

“ Our quest is ended ; we have found her in 
search of whom our king ordered us to roam the 
world. Hearken, O maiden ! Well-nigh tw'elve 
months ago, the king of our far-distant country 


The Story of Rhodope 


293 

was doing sacrifice at the altar that stands out- 
side our noblest temple, when a bird’s shrill cry 
broke through the solemn silence of our worship, 
and looking upward we saw, as it were, a bright 
golden spark shoot through the azure ; an instant 
later this wondrous shoe lay on the altar before 
the king. Some said that, straining their eyes, 
they saw an eagle soar in the blue sky far above 
us. Mayhap it was the bird bore us the treas- 
ure — I cannot say. This much I know, that our 
king was strangely moved at the sight of what 
had dropped from the heavens on to that holy 
place. For many days he was distraught, and 
would sit gazing at the pretty thing, until at 
length he called a number of us, his councilors 
and the like, placed the shoe in our hands, and 
bade us travel far and wide in quest of her who 
had once worn it. ‘ For,’ said our noble young 
king, ‘ I, who have never aforetime yielded to 
love, am fain to wed the maid. Aye ; well I wot 
that she to whom it belongs is still unwed, and 
outshines all other maidens, as her little slipper 
surpasses the daintiest footgear of our court. By 
token that I found the trinket on the altar, I 
know that the gods have ordained me thus to 
find my queen.*’ 

“ Obedient to the royal orders, we fared from 


294 Stories From William Morris 

one land to another, sifting many false claims ; 
but at last, thanks be to the gods! we have 
reached thy country, fair lady, have seen thy 
beauty, and have proof that thou art our mas- 
ter’s appointed bride.” 

Rhodope had grown pale as she listened to 
these words that told of a new and splendid life 
awaiting her. Yet, thrilled though she was with 
the strange tidings, she soon regained her com- 
posure, and answered quietly that it was no light 
matter to leave her people and wed a mighty 
king whom she had never seen, but that, since so 
it seemed ordered by the gods, she would take 
the step, and accept the great fortune offered her. 
She then received the homage of the foreign 
courtiers, who each in turn knelt before her, 
lost in admiration of her beauty and her quiet 
simplicity. 

When sacrifice for the success of their quest 
had been duly made, the strangers approached 
Rhodope to learn when she would be willing to 
set sail with them. She answered that it might 
be that same evening. But,” she added, if I 
leave my home, my parents must come with me. 
We three have lived together through years of 
adversity, and I cannot enter upon a life of wealth 
and ease unless they share it also. 


The Story of Rhodope 295 

“ Let me, I pray you, seek my father, that 
from my own lips he may hear of our changed 
fortunes. He hath ever loved me tenderly, and 
till to-day I have had little cheer to offer him.” 

The courtiers willingly agreed that Rhodope 
should bring the old people with her, and she, 
eager to break the wondrous tidings to her father, 
turned from the market-place with its marveling 
crowds, and hastened homeward, all her indiffer- 
ence swept aside by new feelings of joy and curi- 
osity as to her future. Life, that a few hours ago 
had seemed so dreary, was now promsing her 
every pleasure she could imagine. 

The old man was tending the cattle in his yard 
when Rhodope stole up to his side, and startled 
him with the cry : Father, beside thee stands a 
queen ! ” Then, as he looked in amazement at 
the girl’s bright eyes and glowing cheeks, she 
went on to tell him the whole story of what had 
happened, and ended by urging him to make 
ready, and come with her. 

Awed and trembling, he had listened to the tale. 
When it was finished, he found words with diffi- 
culty. “ Dear heart,” he faltered, if ’tis good 
to thee, why it must please me too. And yet, 
Rhodope, this past year I have been thinking 
things were not going so badly with us, and that 


296 Stories From William Morris 

we might live to enjoy peace and prosperity of a 
sort in our old home. Shame on me, tliough, to 
let an old man’s dreams of his own fireside spoil 
thy gladness ! 

“ Aye, aye, if thou wilt have it so, we will all 
set out together. But bethink thee, my dear, ’tis 
but a passing fancy of thine to take us with 
thee. 'Twere better thou went alone to this 
strange palace ; my love will go with thee, little 
one, and methinks that is enough.” 

But Rhodope would not listen to his excuses. 
Go he must, said she ; how could she face life at 
a great court if he were never to be at her 
side, comforting her when she felt lonely ? And 
how could he live in the old house without 
her? 

There was a tenderness in her voice and face 
that overcame him. He could only smile faintly ; 
as usual, words failed him. Gently he turned 
from her, and went indoors in search of his wife. 
It seemed but a few minutes before the pair came 
out — her mother, to Rhodope’s vexation, abashed 
in her presence as though the girl were already 
a crowned queen, her father with childlike devo- 
tion waiting upon her slightest wish. They had 
dressed as best they could in honor of the occa- 
sion — he, in an old scarlet suit, which in its bet- 


The Story of Rhodope 297 

ter, and its owner’s younger, years had done serv- 
ice on feast days ; she, good soul, in what scraps 
of finery she could lay her hands upon. Rhodope 
still wore her plain gray robe when the little 
party walked to town ; and though the foreigners, 
on meeting her, asked if she would not now let 
herself be decked as a queen, she refused, saying 
that she wished their king to see her as she was, 
a simple country maid. 

« And now, my lords,” she ended, “ let us set 
sail speedily. If this is but a dream, I long even 
in that dream to feel the spray dashed in our faces 
and hear the steady beat of the oars on the deep 
waters.” 

A throng of town and country folk followed 
them to the harbor, raising many joyous and 
hearty shouts, that made the goodwife blush 
deeply, while her husband looked sadly alarmed 
at these unwonted attentions. The rapture of 
the hour entranced Rhodope ; poverty would op- 
press her no more ; she was saying farewell to 
a country which to her held nothing but sad 
memories ; before her lay a voyage across that 
mysterious sea, where the setting sun was now 
running a path of gold up to the king’s galley by 
the quay ; and at her journey’s end she had the 
promise of love and bliss beyond all dreams. 


298 Stories From William Morris 

She slipped her hand within her father’s, and 
raised her eyes, shining with happy tears, as she 
whispered to him of the long years of happiness 
they would enjoy together. That she got no an- 
swer she hardly noticed ; for they were already at 
the ship, and as they reached the gangway, she 
stepped in front of the old man, so that she could 
not have caught his words. With one hand held 
behind her, as though expecting her father’s an- 
swering clasp, she wandered to the prow of the 
ship, and stood there, gazing intently on the 
tossing billows, without one backward glance on 
shore or gangway. Not even when the ropes 
were cast off, and the galley shot outward from 
the harbor, did she turn round. The sun slowly 
sank beneath the line of shimmering waters, the 
crimson evening turned cold and gray, and still 
Rhodope stood, lost in her day-dreams. 

At length, as the curtain of night fell around 
her, she recalled herself to her new surroundings. 
She heard the sailors shout to one another at 
their work, the wind swept the galley on its way, 
and, spite of the knowledge that men and ship 
were alike in her service, she felt strangely in need 
of her father’s familiar face and words to comfort 
her that night. To be reminded she was 
child rather than mistress was her desire. Anx- 


The Story of Rhodope 


299 

iously she walked the deck, murmuring : “ Where 
is he ? Ah ! if he is not with me how little care 
I for my fortune ! ” 

He who had been spokesman in the morning 
came up to her, and heard her hurried inquiry for 
her father. In dismay he looked at her sad, 
questioning eyes and parted lips, that told of her 
anxiety. 

“ Oh, my lady,” he gasped, “ dost thou not 
know that he has stayed behind ? I thought he 
had surely told thee how that he was fain to live 
out his days with his goodwife in his own land, 
in his old home, and how he could not bring him- 
self to move amongst strangers or dwell in a king’s 
palace. Tell me, my mistress, shall we put back 
to harbor, and send word that he must join 
us ? ” 

Rhodope felt her limbs trembling ; the an- 
swer Aye ” was on her lips, but she checked the 
word before it was uttered. Then in another 
minute her strength returned ; she accepted what 
Fate had ordained, and in a low, quiet voice she 
bade the courtier let the ship go on its way. She 
saw now the fulfilment of her father’s dream, that 
by the will of the gods, while her life blossomed 
into wondrous splendor and prosperity, her par- 
ents’ days must end in the old homestead where 


300 Stories From William Morris 

their lot had been cast. And the truth of the 
goodman’s words that morning was borne into 
her mind : his love, and that alone, could go with 
her to her new and princely home. 


The Land East of the Sun and 
West of the Moon 


E ast of the sun, west of the moon ! 

All day long Gregory’s fishing boat 
had been flitting hither and thither upon 
the broad Norwegian firth, so belike it was the 
memory of that long day’s cruise that led him at 
night-time to dream of a country whose direc- 
tion was so quaint and puzzling. And as the 
dream lingered in his mind next morning, and 
pleased him, idle though it was, he took pains to 
turn it into verses, which many a generation has 
listened to within the halls and cottages of Nor- 
way. 

Here is the story which came to him in his 
dreams. 

A well-to-do husbandman in a certain part of 
Norway farmed his own land with the help of his 
two elder sons. He had a third son, but this 
John, although a tall, strong lad, was of little use 
upon the farm. Many an hour he trifled away at 
the fireside in winter, and still more in the woods 
301 


302 Stories From William Morris 

and orchard when summer came round. What- 
ever he might make of his handsome face, his 
dreamy wits, the store of old rhymes and such 
other scraps of learning as were his, he would 
never prove a good farmer, said his father. “ Let 
John go his own ways,” the goodman would ex- 
claim ; “ he is not worth training on my fields ! ” 

One summer morning the farmer went to look 
at a meadow where he expected his rich crop of 
hay would soon be ready for the scythe, but, alas ! 
a melancholy sight met his eyes when he looked 
across the wattled fence — a great patch of the 
meadow grass was trampled down, so that no 
mower could possibly pass his scythe through the 
tangle. 

The farmer came home with a frown on his 
brow. “ Thorolf,” he cried to his eldest son, “ to- 
night you must take your crossbow, and lie in 
watch amongst the hawthorns that skirt the 
south meadow. Some one has come by night 
and beaten down the ripening grass ; whether it 
be an enemy of ours — who would have thought 
we had any ! — or a mischievous vagrant, he shall 
be well punished if he plant foot within the 
meadow a second time ! ” 

So Thorolf went out after supper to keep watch 
over the meadow, but what with his hard day’s 


work, and a very comfortable meal at the close 
of it, he was not long in falling into a doze, and 
from that he passed into a deep sleep that lasted 
well into the morning. When he arose from his 
bed of wood-sorrel he found that the long grass 
was trodden down in fresh places, and he was 
obliged to go home and own, to his father’s 
chagrin, that matters were now worse than ever. 

The next evening Thord, the second son, was 
sent in place of Thorolf, but when he returned to 
confess with downcast face that he had done no 
better than his elder brother, and that by this 
time there was only one corner of the meadow 
left untrodden, the farmer altogether lost his 
temper, and rated them both soundly, calling 
them good-for-nothing, slothful young fellows. 

Hearing his brothers called names that were 
generally bestowed upon him alone, John, who 
was strolling past the group, stopped, and stretch- 
ing himself lazily : “ I am truly sorry you have 

not done your work better, my brothers,” he said, 
with a pretense at reproach in his voice, ** for 
now our good father will insist upon sending me 
out to take a turn at night watching. Well, 
well, father, you need vex no more ; by this time to- 
morrow I shall have found out where the mischief 
comes from.” 


304 Stories From William Morris 

“ You ! ” cried his father indignantly. “ Do 
you think you can succeed where Thorolf and 
Thord have both failed ? If you find out the 
offender it will be the first time in your life, my 
boy, that you have shown yourself worth your 
keep. Go and try the post to-night, by all 
means, but I cannot say that I expect to learn 
more from you than from my other brave 
watchers.” 

Quite unmoved by his father’s scoff, John went 
calmly on his way. He spent the day in sleep — 
a wise enough preparation for night work — and 
when the time came for him to go on watch, he 
went down to the meadow without bow or knife 
in his hand. “ If I have to deal with a rough set 
of men, they would soon make an end of me 
should I draw bow upon them,” thought he, “ and 
still less use have I for weapons, if the trespassers 
prove, as methinks they will, to be gentle fairy- 
folk.” 

Amongst the hawthorn bushes he found a 
hiding-place close to the untrodden part of the 
hayfield. Hour after hour passed, and yet no 
visitant, either of earth or fairyland, set foot upon 
the meadow. The dawn broke, a light breeze 
stirred the long grass, and one by one the birds 
in the wood began to twitter shyly. Up to this 


time John had kept wide awake, but now drowsi- 
ness would have overpowered him had he not 
heard a strange, rushing sound of wings over- 
head, and, parting the boughs that screened his 
face, he watched breathlessly to see what manner 
of bird might alight. Slowly seven white swans 
came circling toward the meadow, and dropped 
on the dewy grass only a stone’s cast from where 
he lay crouching beneath the hawthorn. He was 
ready to raise a shout, and frighten them from the 
place, if need be ; but so long as they did no harm 
to his father’s crops, he took pleasure in watching 
them close beside him, bridling, and preening 
their snow-white feathers. 

Satisfied that they were moving about on the 
edge of the field where there was nothing to spoil, 
he closed his eyes for a few moments. A sud- 
den hush made him start, and he glanced round 
to see if the stately birds were still before him. 
No, they were not; but on the grass stood seven 
maidens, as fresh and lovely as the white feathers 
that they had cast down at their feet ! One of 
them was standing with her face turned away 
from the hawthorn brake, so that John saw but 
the ripples of her golden hair, over which the 
morning breeze was playing lightly; yet as he 
hearkened to the sweet notes of her voice, his 


3o 6 Stories From William Morris 

heart beat wildly, and he cried to himself that she 
was the fairest of the fays, and the queen of his 
heart now and forever! And when at length 
she turned, and he eagerly scanned her features, 
one glance told him that he had judged aright by 
her voice, for indeed the sweetness of her face 
passed all imagining. 

A while the seven sisters stood murmuring 
softly to one another, glad, it seemed, to indulge 
in talk when they regained their voices along 
with their human form ; then, as if to enjoy all 
that they might, before they again put on their 
feathery dress, they danced lightly and merrily 
over the long, dewy grass, and laughed for joy as 
they frolicked carelessly in the farmer’s dearly 
prized meadow. Not for worlds would the 
watcher amongst the hawthorns have disturbed 
them. Every smile, every word, and every move- 
ment of the swan-maiden whom he had singled 
out for his love, made his heart thrill with hap- 
piness. But ah I what would he do when she 
flew away with her sisters, and he was left to 
mourn, perchance never to see her again ? The 
swan-skin which she had cast aside, lay within 
his reach. If he hid it from her, at least she 
would have to speak a word to him before she 
could recover it and soar away, thought he, and. 


The Land East of the Sun 307 

yielding to the impulse, he stretched out his hand 
stealthily, and drew the skin into his nest beneath 
the thorn-trees. 

The sun, that had shot its first level beams 
across the meadow when the maidens started 
upon their dance, now rising high in the heavens, 
warned them that it was no longer safe to linger 
where men might soon be passing to their day’s 
work. In a long line they tripped back, one 
after another, and slipped on their snow-white 
swanskins; but when she upon whom John’s 
eyes were bent, came to look for hers, a sharp 
cry of distress rang from her lips — the downy 
wrap was not to be found ! In vain she searched 
for it, in vain her sisters flitted through the 
tangled grass, looking for what lay hidden 
securely in John’s keeping beneath the hawthorn 
boughs. Every minute the sun beat more strongly 
upon wood and field, a stern reminder to the 
swan-maidens that fate forbade them to remain 
longer upon earth. The six fair white birds 
clustered around their poor sister, striving without 
avail to comfort her, and she, softly stroking their 
plumes with one hand in silent farewell, hid her 
tearful eyes with the other as they unwillingly 
prepared to take their flight. So long as they 
were with her, she tried to conceal her anguish, 


308 Stories From William Morris 

but when she heard them rise on the wing and 
soar away far above the meadow, her grief broke 
out wildly ; her whole body was shaken with sobs, 
and the tears splashed down on the grass through 
the slim fingers that hid her face. 

A sound of footsteps amongst rustling twigs 
startled her even in the midst of her distress, and 
in fear of being seen by mortal eyes, she fled 
across the trampled ground, and cowered low 
down in the beaten grass, like a wounded bird 
that lies in terror of its destroyer. The eyes that 
met hers, however, were not such as could inspire 
fear ; they were almost as startled and timid as 
her own. Moved by her grief, John had come to 
own, in shame, that he had stolen the swan-skin ; 
and though at first the maiden had trembled at 
his coming, she saw now that he was looking 
tenderly upon her, and she divined that it was 
love for her, and a longing to keep her beside 
him, that had prompted his theft. “ Ah! do you 
think,” she cried passionately, “ that because you 
have been cruel enough to hide my swan-skin, 
and keep me bound to earth, I can love you and 
live happily amongst mortal men ? ” Wisely she 
worked upon his feelings, begging him, since he 
did not wish to do her harm, to win her grateful 
thanks by letting her fly away safely. “ You 



SHE SAW THAT HE WAS LOOKING TENDERLY UPON HER, 
(From a drawing by G. D. Hammond.) 






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The Land East of the Sun 309 

make it too hard for me to set you free, maiden,” 
he answered ; “ every word from your lips, every 
glance from your bright eyes so enthralls me 
that I cannot bear to let you go.” 

“ Alas ! ” she sobbed, what can I do ? I 
would fain listen to your love, but I must not 
dwell with mortals upon earth ; it would be death 
alike to you and to me if you kept me beside you 
any longer. Will you not come with me, and 
share our life in our far- distant country? Nay, 
nay ; it would be too much to ask you to leave 
your home and your kinsfolk for my sake. Let 
me bid you farewell, then ; be wise, and yield to 
fate ; let me soar away in my swan-skin, and do 
you turn back and dwell contentedly in your own 
land, knowing that you have won my heart by 
your gentleness, your pity, and your love.” 

“Nay,” said he eagerly ; “ I will not let you go 
alone. Take me with you, I pray, and let me 
live forever in your far country, for worthless 
would I count my life on earth if I should never 
look again on your dear face.” 

So the swan-maiden, though she doubted the 
wisdom of his choice, suffered him to lead her to 
the shade of a neighboring beech-wood, where, 
taking from him her white swan-skin, she made 
ready for their strange journey. First, she set a 


310 Stories From William Morris 

gold ring with a dark green stone upon his fingei 
as a seal to their love; then, bidding him lie 
down on the withered leaves beneath a beech- 
tree, she laid a spell upon him, and immediately 
his eyes grew dim, and sleep stole over his 
senses. 

A long, long time passed until at length his 
eyes opened upon a new world. His love stood 
beside him in a beautiful land, whose sunshine 
and flowers were as unmatched by what he had 
hitherto known, as was the girlish beauty of her 
upon whom the pink blossoms were now falling 
from the trees. “ My land and yours ! ” she 
cried, following his bewildered gaze with a smile. 

“ You look too grave, sweetheart ; does it not 
please you well ? ” But the only reason why the 
earth-born stranger looked so grave was that he 
was striving to recall something of the gloom and 
trouble that overshadowed mortal life, so that he 
might the better gauge the joy of his new home 
where all was unclouded peacefulness and bliss. 

Three harvests had been gathered in his 
father’s fields when John began to think wistfully 
of the life that had once been his in Norway. It 
was not that he was dissatisfied with the fairyland 
in which he dwelt, or that his love was growing 
cold toward the lady of his heart, but more and 


The Land East of the Sun 31 1 

more he yearned to share again his brothers' lot 
and to see how things sped with them. He 
fancied that he showed no sign of uneasiness, how- 
ever, so the swan-maiden’s question surprised him 
when one morning she asked : “ What burden 

lies heavy upon your spirit ? Do you fear that 
I have hid from you the knowledge of coming 
trouble, and that our careless, happy years are 
soon to have an end? Yes ; you are right. I 
have said nothing of what I foresaw, because so 
long as we could close our eyes to it, there was 
no call to disturb our peaceful days, but now, 
alas ! our parting is at hand.” 

John turned to her anxiously. Parting ? ” 
said he. ‘‘ Why should we part ? ” 

Then the swan-maiden told him that fate willed 
he should return to his own country for a time, 
and that their future happiness depended solely 
upon whether he could keep the commands that 
must be laid upon him whilst he revisited his old 
home. “ Let not a sigh for me escape your 
lips,” she warned him solemnly, “ for were you to 
call on me, I would have to appear beside you 
upon earth, and ill would it be for both of us if 
I were seen of mortals. Yet though you must 
not ask me to join you, I have power to call you 
back, should I need you sorely. Every evening 


312 Stories From William Morris 

you shall go to the meadow where you first saw 
me, wait there an hour, and if I would recall you, 
I will send a sign. Rest contented, nor strive to 
return until you are bidden of me, and above all, 
sweetheart, let no one know the story of our 
love.” Then, telling him that he must not delay 
his departure, she led him to the spot where he 
had first awakened in her fairyland, and, bending 
over him with sad and tender farewell, she soon 
sang him to sleep beneath a mystic spell. He 
knew that he was being wafted farther and far- 
ther away from her, for her sweet voice, half 
choked with sobs, grew fainter each moment, and 
before his eyes there flitted a countless number 
of forms, unlike what he had ever seen either on 
earth or in fairyland — birds of gorgeous plumage, 
giant trees that seemed like overgrown ferns, dim- 
eyed beasts, and unthought-of creatures that 
aped mankind. By and by he became uncon- 
scious, as on his former journey, and when he 
awakened he was lying in a thick wood, where 
he had spent many an hour bird-nesting in his 
boyhood. He was again in Norway! 

How well he remembered every step that he 
took toward his father s house I When he reached 
open ground he saw the farm-roofs, studded with 
bright house-leeks, rising above a distant clump 


The Land East of the Sun 313 

of trees, and at the same time he heard the horn 
summoning the field workers to dinner — a sum- 
mons which they were not slow to answer, for 
every one was at table when John, a few minutes 
later, came up to the porch, his footsteps un- 
noticed amid the general clatter of tongues and 
dishes. He listened anxiously until he caught 
the sound of his father’s voice, for he had feared 
that by this time the old man might be dead ; but 
now, reassured by the cheerfulness that reigned 
in the homestead, he steppped forward briskly, 
took the horn from its peg beside the door, and 
wound it, as a stranger might, to announce his 
arrival. 

The honest farm-folk stared in amazement 
when they saw upon the threshold a stranger 
whose dress was a mass of gold from head to foot. 
No one recognized John; even his father 
thought he was a nobleman, and, rising up, he 
courteously invited him to rest in the hall and 
share their simple meal, if he were so inclined. 

John thanked him, and, feeling that it was not 
a fit time at which to declare himself, he an- 
swered that he would be glad to rest with them a 
while, for he was a stranger in those parts, and, 
having had the mishap to lose his horse that 
morning, he had been forced to walk till he was 


314 Stories From William Morris 

footsore. Satisfied with the explanation, the 
goodman gave him a place at the head of the 
table, and treated him with the utmost honor; 
but his mother, on the other hand, was less con- 
vinced by his story, and watched him narrowly, 
wondering why he should so strongly remind her 
of her youngest boy, whom, in spite of his way- 
wardness, she had loved most tenderly, and whose 
sudden disappearance had caused her untold suf- 
fering. 

Meanwhile John had been taking note of all 
who were at table. Father and mother, his two 
brothers Thorolf and Thord, and most of the old 
servants were still there. A few new faces there 
were, one of which he looked at with interest — 
by his younger brother’s side sat a handsome 
woman, whom he rightly guessed to be Thord’s 
bride. For one glance that John gave this 
Thorgerd, she shyly returned two, for she was 
much charmed by the good looks and the pleas- 
ant manners of the stranger. 

When dinner was over the men returned to 
their work in the fields ; but before they left, the 
master of the house begged his guest to rest in 
the farmhouse as long as he pleased, and John 
answered that he would be glad to stay a while. 
The women, were sent to their tasks by their mis- 


The Land East of the Sun 315 

tress, who gave her orders to her young daughter- 
in-law, Thorgerd, amongst the others. Unwill- 
ingly Thorgerd rose from the table, and, throw- 
ing a last glance toward John, left him and his 
mother alone in the hall. But not yet did the 
good wife dare to ask this handsomely dressed 
stranger the question that was trembling on her 
lips. If he really were her son he would soon 
show it, she believed ; and instead of leading him 
to talk, she slipped out of the hall, and prepared 
to test him by a simple little device. She sent a 
maid to throw down an armful of clothes on the 
settle close to which the stranger was resting, 
and the maid having done so, John was again left 
alone in the hall. His eyes fell upon the bundle 
of clothes beside him, and he immediately recog- 
nized them to be a masquerader’s quaint cloak 
and hood which he had worn four years ago at a 
Yule-tide gathering. 

The whole scene came back to him : the snowy 
ground, the figures around him, and the song that 
they sang that evening : 

“ News of a fair and a marvelous thing, 

The snow in the street and the wind on the door. 

Nowell, nowell, nowell we sing ! 

Minstrels and maids ^ stand forth on the floor.'' 


316 Stories From William Morris 

He rose dreamily, threw off his gold-embroid- 
ered coat, and, wrapping himself in the spangled 
finery, he paced the floor singing verse after verse 
of the old carol. His mother stole back to the 
hall, and saw what she had expected — her own 
boy, recalled by the memories of a past night, 
breaking into songs of the countryside, and hug- 
ging the quaint cloak about him as he wandered 
up and down the room in his dreamy fashion as 
of old. 

He ran toward her as he caught sight of her 
loving eyes fixed upon him. “ Mother,” he cried, 
looking into the wistful face, and kissing her 
fondly, as he had done when he was but a boy, 
“ mother, your ne’er-do-well has come back, and 
glad am I that I may yet be a joy to you. I 
have come to see you but for a time, for my new 
home is far distant, and ere long I must return 
to it. But if I give you news of how I have 
fared these three years, tell me in return all that 
has come to pass amongst you in that time.” 

So mother and son sat and talked hand-in- 
hand until the others came in at nightfall, when 
John rose, and told them that he was indeed the 
lad who had disappeared three summers ago. 
Mindful of the warning given him by the swan- 
maiden, he told no one, not even his old mother. 


The Land East of the Sun 317 

the true story of his fairy love, but spoke of how 
he had met people from a far country the morn- 
ing that he had been on watch beside the south 
meadow, and how they had taken him with them, 
and, settling in their midst, he had fared sur- 
passingly well, and was now wedded to a lovely 
princess. 

There was great rejoicing amongst the simple 
folk when they learned that the handsome stran- 
ger was the idle young dreamer whose chances 
of fortune had seemed so slender in the past. 
His elder brothers welcomed him without the 
least touch of jealousy ; while the goodman, for 
the first time in his life, felt proud of his young- 
est son, and his only regret was that John would 
have to quit Norway again, when the seamen 
who had brought him on this visit should return 
to take him back to his new home. 

And now John had got his desire. He was 
free to enjoy life on his father’s farm as of old ; 
but just as he had wearied for the pleasure of 
that rough life when he was shut off from it in 
the swan-maiden’s country, so now that he was 
again upon earth, what would he not have given 
to see his love at his side ? He began to grieve 
sadly, and the people in the homestead noticed 
that he came home more unhappy each evening 


318 Stories From William Morris 

from his solitary walk to the south meadow. 
They would fain have discovered why he took 
this nightly walk alone ; but he did not encour- 
age them to talk about his affairs, and, saving 
Thorgerd, no one ventured to question him. His 
sister-in-law, however, had fallen hopelessly in 
love with him, and she did everything in her 
power to win his heart and learn the secrets that 
lay buried there. She would slip out to join him 
on his way back from the meadow at nights, 
when he, love-lorn and despairing, sometimes 
wondered if he might not tell the story of his 
woe to this soft-eyed friend who was so anxious 
to listen to his talk and try to comfort him. 

It was only by remembering how earnestly ' 
the swan-maiden had entreated him to keep the 
secret of her love from mortal ears, that he with- 
stood his longing to unburden himself to Thor- 
gerd. And yet, although he never willingly re- 
vealed the reason of his sadness, there came at 
length a night when rash words escaped him, 
and brought grievous trouble upon him and his 
beloved. 

On Christmas Eve the snow lay thick upon 
the ground, and heavy gray clouds were resting 
on the hillsides, to be ever and again swept along 
by a bitingly cold wind that howled around the 


The Land East of the Sun 319 

old farmhouse as John set out on his customary 
evening walk to the meadow. The chill and 
dreary look of the country was in keeping with 
his sense of misery, and in a sudden fit of despair 
he cried aloud when he reached the spot where 
he had first seen the swan-maiden : “ Come td me, 
sweetheart ! I cannot live without you. Come 
to me now ! ” 

Would a fair white swan float down toward 
him from that cold, wind-swept mass of clouds ? 
No; no answer came either by sight or sound. 
A long time he waited breathlessly, trembling at 
his rashness in having called his beloved ; but 
the sky grew darker and darker, night closed in, 
and at last he realized that it was useless to wait 
longer. Bitterly reproaching his love for having 
deceived him in saying that she would come at a 
sigh from him, he turned, and strode homeward. 
A slender woman wrapped in a gray cloak stood 
waiting him as he entered the courtyard ; here, 
surely, was his swan-maiden ! Not a word could 
he cry, for joy and surprise overmastered him. 
He saw her glide up to him, and felt her soft, 
warm hand slipped into his. Then he stam- 
mered, “ Oh, sweetheart, I have done no wrong, 
have I ? I called on you because I could no 
longer endure life without you.” 


320 Stories From William Morris 

A gentle voice answered that in her eyes he 
could do no wrong, and that to know he loved 
her was the one desire of her heart. But when 
he recognized the speaker, John dropped her 
hand quickly, for it was not his swan-maiden, 
but Thorgerd, who had come to meet him. For- 
getting that there was a listener beside him, he 
cried recklessly : “ O my beloved, do you care 
for me no longer? Have I been indeed de- 
ceived ? Yet think not that my love can fail 
like yours ; while life lasts, never shall I cease to 
mourn for you ! ” 

Thorgerd did not interrupt him. Silently she 
walked beside him across the snowy courtyard 
to the hall-door, then, stopping abruptly, she 
asked him in a smothered voice who it was that 
he had hoped to see that night — was it not she 
herself? She had loosened her gray cloak, and 
the light from the open door sparkled upon her 
golden hair and on the rich, embroidered robe 
which she wore in honor of the Christmas feast. 
A more beautiful woman could hardly have been 
found in all Norway ; but John had not a thought 
to give her, and cared not though his words 
pained her deeply. He answered that the lady- 
love whom he longed to see was afar off. ** Ah, 
if she would but cross this- threshold to-night ! ” 


The Land East of the Sun 321 

he sighed despairingly ; and as Thorgerd heard 
him, she turned away sullenly, knowing that 
there would never be a place for her in his heart, 
and wild with shame and anger that she had 
vainly betrayed to him the secret of her love. 

The great Yule-tide feast was being celebrated 
in the hall, and every one belonging to the home- 
stead was there, John and Thorgerd among the 
rest ; she, trying to bury her chagrin in forced 
merriment, he, weary at heart, still thinking of 
his lost love. It was late in the evening before 
he could rouse himself to join in the revelry 
around the table ; but at length he made the ef- 
fort to bear his part, and, rising to his feet, he was 
about to call some well-known toast, when a horn 
rang out clear, though far away across the fields, 
and at the sound of the blast the words died upon 
his lips. Again the horn was wound, this time 
louder than before, and John grew pale and 
trembled at the thought of what it might be- 
token. When for the third time the blast was 
heard, now close at hand, he could neither speak 
nor move, and the other men snatched up their 
weapons, not knowing what enemy might be 
upon them at that late hour; another minute, 
and the arms were dropped, for the door opened, 
and upon the threshold stood a gentle lady in 


322 Stories From William Morris 

robes white as snow that lay about her feet — 
John’s true love had come to him ! 

“ Joy and peace to the house,” she said in her 
pretty, birdlike voice, looking round the smoky 
hall with a bright inquiring glance. ** I have 
come to join my loved one. Will you give me 
your welcome, John ? ” 

How timidly, and yet with what rapture, did 
John come forward to whisper his joy at seeing 
her ; how proudly he led her before his father 
and the others, telling them that for his sake 
his bride had come a far journey to his home ! 
If any one had been inclined to doubt the story 
of John’s fortunes, there was none now but be- 
lieved it every whit, when they saw his mate, 
whom no princess in their country could equal 
in sweetness and beauty. The evening that had 
begun so gloomily for John, had now become 
a season of bewildering joy, and he watched with 
delight how his beloved won the hearts of all at 
table. She spoke gently and lovingly to the 
goodman and his wife, wishing them many long 
years of happiness together; she joined in the 
mirth around her, and when a shade of doubt and 
anxiety crossed John’s face, she smiled upon him 
gaily, as if to assure him that he must not regret 
the rash words which brought her to his world. 


The Land East of the Sun 323 

“ Let us be glad together for at least one night,” 
she whispered ; and so, in spite of secret misgiv- 
ings, he smiled back to her, and gave himself up 
to the enjoyment of her sweet presence. 

Hours after, when the banquet was over and 
the house wrapped in slumber, a poor, heart- 
broken little swan- maiden arose, and bent tear- 
fully over John, who was lying fast asleep. 
“ Farewell, dearest,” she sobbed as she drew Ihe 
gold ring off his finger. Alas that we should 
have to part ! Yet so it must be, because in your 
impatience you called me to appear amongst 
mortals. How mournful henceforth will your 
life be, and oh ! how desolate mine, when I go to 
dwell in that land far beyond the world’s end, 
east of the sun and west of the moon ! Ah ! love, 
would that these words might reach you in your 
sleep, and sink deep into your memory, so that 
you might afterward arise and seek me in that 
home of hapless lovers, whither no one has yet 
journeyed of his own will ! ” 

Then she turned, and stole softly down-stairs to 
the deserted hall, and out into the white world of 
snow on which the moon was pouring its silver 
light. But where her path led, no one might 
ever know, for when John discovered his loss in 
the morning, and ran out, wild with grief, to try 


324 Stories From William Morris 

and trace her steps, he found that the snow had 
fallen afresh, and not a print remained to tell of 
her passing. 

In speechless anguish, he fled from his old 
home before any of the household was astir, and 
all day he wandered aimlessly through the coun- 
tryside until at nightfall he reached a small sea- 
port. He had but one thought, and that was to 
roam the wide world, so long as life lasted, in 
search of his beloved. But where was he to turn 
his steps ? He was haunted by the memory of 
a phrase — part of a forgotten dream, he fancied — 
which told of a dreary land where the love-lorn 
dwell, far removed from earth's joys ; but, try as he 
might, he could not recall the exact words which 
might help him upon his well-nigh hopeless 
quest. 

Having determined to seek his lost one over- 
seas, he had to wait many weeks at the little sea- 
port until the wintry weather gave place to a mild 
springtide, when the sailing boats could safely 
leave the harbor. At length, one fair March 
evening, he went on board the first ship that was 
southward bound that season, and although he 
had nothing to guide him in his wanderings, he 
felt it a comfort at least to be moving onward to 
a new country. His dreams that night were of 


The Land East of the Sun 325 

travels, untried and perilous, yet full of promise, 
and when he awakened in time to see the sun rise 
while the moon was still shining faintly, the 
words that had haunted his memory since that 
sad Christmas night, suddenly flashed upon him, 
and he cried : “ East of the suit and west of the 
moon ! That is the land where I shall find my 
swan-maiden. But oh ! my sweetheart, how am 
I to reach you there ? ” 

He looked up gratefully at sun and moon, 
which together had recalled the phrase that hence- 
forth was to guide his steps, and little else he 
thought of, for the rest of his voyage ; but how 
he could journey to that unknown abode of the 
love-lorn. When his ship reached the shores of 
England he disembarked at the easterly port of 
Dunwich, and since he could expect no news of 
foreign lands in the quiet country villages around, 
he turned his steps toward London, where he 
might hear talk amongst the seamen on the 
wharfs about strange journeys — perchance of 
what lay beyond the world’s end. 

Sometimes when he stopped for the night at a 
hostel or abbey, he would relate his own sad love- 
story (always pretending, however, that it was the 
tale of another man), in the hope that some 
listener might rise to tell something more about 


326 Stories From William Morris 

that land of exiled lovers. But though his 
audience heard him with deep interest, and told 
him that no minstrel could have given them a 
merrier tale, yet never a man had a word to add 
about the country of which the poor wanderer was 
fain to hear. In time he reached London, and 
went down to the riverside, where he mixed with 
all sorts of travelers and heard indeed of many a 
curious voyage ; but to that land east of the sun 
and west of the moon no one seemed ever to 
have journeyed, or at least no one had ever re- 
turned from its shores. Then he resolved that he 
would begin traveling himself, and from that time 
onward he sailed from one quarter of the globe to 
another, till many years had been spent in fruit- 
less search that brought him no nearer to his 
heart’s desire. 

Once he returned to his father’s house in Nor- 
way, but when he learned that his mother was 
dead, the ties which bound him to his kinsmen 
were severed ; and after he had seen his father 
and brothers, strong and hearty as ever, and 
Thorgerd no less beautiful, he bade them fare- 
well hastily, for the place reminded him too 
sadly of his swan-maiden, and scarcely could 
he restrain himself from falling down in a pas- 
sion of tears to kiss the threshold on which her 


The Land East of the Sun 327 

slender white feet had rested that fateful Christ- 
mas night. 

Reckless of dangers, he continued to roam 
through many countries until he found himself 
in an Eastern land in the company of certain 
traders who were preparing for a cruise to far- 
distant shores, where they expected to find great 
abundance of gold and precious stones. At his 
request they took him aboard, and presently they 
set out upon their voyage with every prospect of 
success. 

Time passed, however, and the land which the 
sailors expected to have sighted was nowhere 
visible ; day after day they sailed on, and still 
nothing but sea and sky met their gaze ; then 
seamen and merchants grew alike disquieted, 
while, strange to say, John felt calmer and more 
hopeful than his wont. 

Standing one evening by the prow, he gazed 
at the setting sun with hopes so bright that he 
was almost afraid to harbor them in his heart. 
While the sun dropped upon the western horizon 
he saw the sickle of the new moon shining aloft ; 
and at the sight of sun and moon he pondered on 
the course he wished to keep — east of the sun, 
west of the moon, and something seemed to 
whisper to him that this evening he was ap- 


328 Stories From William Morris 

preaching his long journey’s end. He cared not 
that the sailors were anxiously watching a heavy 
bank of gray clouds that lay upon the water’s 
edge in the east ; the threatening storm had no 
terrors for him, and at night-time he lay down 
and slept, while the others, open-eyed, and shud- 
dering at the great waves that rose like moun- 
tains above the ship’s side, crouched together in 
fear of instant death. The night grew darker and 
darker, and the sea tossed the frail timber-built 
vessel, as though it were made of paper, now to 
the crest of a huge billow and again down into a 
trough at the very roots of the waves. And still 
John slept, until a great wave swept over the deck 
and hurled him against the mast, around which he 
had the presence of mind to fling both arms, so 
that he escaped being washed overboard. 
Whether others, like himself, were still clinging 
to the wreck, he could not see, but it was soon 
plain that all were alike doomed, for the ship was 
rapidly filling with water. On and on he was 
swept through the billows, while through his 
mind rushed crowded memories of his loved swan- 
maiden ; and horror of the shipwreck and the 
raging black sea was lost in strangely peaceful 
dreams of her for whose sake he was even then 
drifting to an untimely end. Then the wrecked 


vessel reeled beneath a last, violent shock, the 
waves met with a roar above his head, and John 
sank down quietly into depths where he felt and 
knew no more. 

But all was not over. The swan-maiden's 
lover awoke to find himself on a sunny stretch of 
sand where the green sea rippled gently at his 
feet, without a trace of the storm that had raged 
the night before. A strange contentment filled 
his heart as he thought of all the toils and perils 
he had safely passed through ; surely, said he, his 
life would not have been preserved, had he not 
been destined to see his beloved once again. 
For a little while he lay at ease, basking in the 
warm sunshine, and wondering vaguely what 
country this might be, which had all the charm 
of earth’s fairest places and was yet unlike any 
land that he had ever visited. 

At length he rose, and with a last gaze upon 
the ocean, which he was dimly conscious he 
would not cross again, he passed inland over 
daisied slopes, where never a building of any 
kind nor a human being was to be seen. 

From the sea-level the ground rose first to 
grassy hills and then to an unbroken line of lofty, 
rugged mountains, which, having no passes, 


330 Stories From William Morris 

would have to be scaled by the stranger who 
wished to make his way to the valley beyond. 
John stopped to take his first refreshment in this 
lonely outland, from an apple-tree on whose 
boughs blossoms and delicious ripe fruit hung 
side by side, and then he pressed uphill until the 
sun set, and he was forced to wait till dawn be- 
fore he gained the heights from which he hoped 
to look down into the heart of the country. So 
early indeed was he afoot next day that the sun 
had but risen when he reached the summit. 
Looking eagerly inland, he saw beneath him a 
wonderfully beautiful vale, in which the band of 
man had been at work, cultivating fruits and rais- 
ing pleasant homesteads by the side of the stream 
that flowed betw^een the low meadows. On the 
slopes immediately beneath the bare rocky brow 
of the hill, lay terraced vineyards and rich wheat 
fields ; lower down, there were patches of orchards 
which skirted the fertile meadows on the level 
ground. Cottages and trim farmhouses were 
there in plenty, and as John gazed down upon 
the valley, which the sun was now flooding with 
a golden haze, he fancied that the happy folk 
who dwelt there must be sheltered from all the 
woes that afilict mortals whose lot is cast in less 
pleasant places. 


The Land East of the Sun 331 

From this restful scene his eyes turned to the 
wan ghost of the moon, which hung low above 
the hills facing him, and then, feeling the sun 
waxing warm upon his shoulders, he gave a sud- 
den shout of joy : East of the sun and west of 

the moon / At last, at last I have reached the 
land where my loved one is to be found ! ” 

He looked to find a path from the rocky ridge 
down to the hollow, and, seeing that it was im- 
possible to descend the steep cliffs at the point 
where he stood, he made his way along the crest 
of the hill for some little distance, until the val- 
ley beneath him, which had at first been but nar- 
row, widened out to a great expanse of sheltered 
lowland, through which the river swept in a wide 
bend. Far away upon the curve of the river, 
gleamed the golden roofs of a castle, and at the 
sight of it John’s heart beat fast, for there, 
surely, was the abode of the love-lorn ! Presently 
the hillside became less precipitous, and, climb- 
ing down the rocks, he reached the grassy 
slopes, where men were afoot, making ready for 
their day’s work in field and orchard. They 
were a well-thriven race, comely for the most 
part, and of honest appearance, but never had 
John seen such grave faces as they wore. They 
showed no interest in the stranger ; if their sad 


332 Stories From William Morris 

eyes happened to meet his, they gave him no 
second glance, and none answered his greeting. 
On his way to the palace he hailed in turn a 
woodman, an elderly dame, riding upon a mule, 
and a young boy, who was walking by her side, 
but for all the notice that they took of his ques- 
tions, they might have been dead folk. Indeed, 
so much did he doubt whether they were living 
men and women, that when he passed a group of 
girls filling their jars with water at the palace 
fountain, he laid his fingers lightly upon the soft 
hand of a maid to feel if there were any warmth 
in it. Yes ; the blood coursed freely in her veins, 
but his touch could not rouse her from the indif- 
ference in which she, like the others in this en- 
chanted land, seemed to be irretrievably lost. 

Through groups of servants, men-at-arms, and 
gentlefolk, he passed from the court to the hall, 
where all were streaming in to their early meal 
without a summons from either bell or horn. He 
stood aside and watched the dumb figures take 
their places until only one seat remained empty, 
and that was the throne in the centre of the dais. 
Then in his sea-stained, tattered clothes, bestrode 
barefooted, past the handsomely dressed knights 
and ladies, and seated himself in the chair of 
honor. J ust as no one had questioned his right to 


The Land East of the Sun 333 

enter the palace, so no one showed either dis- 
pleasure or surprise at his taking his seat upon 
the throne. The meal was taken in unbroken 
silence; unasked, the servants brought John all 
that he could wish ; and then, smiling at the ab- 
surdity of a poor wanderer like himself having 
been entertained so royally, he wandered out of 
the hall before the others, and turned his steps 
along a cool cloister. 

A maid brushed closely past him, walked to 
the end of the paved way, and disappeared 
through a door in the wall. The disappointment 
which John had felt when he saw that his swan- 
maiden was not amongst the people in the hall, 
gave place suddenly to overwhelming excitement. 
The door in front of him led, without doubt, to 
the women’s courts, and there, if anywhere in 
this enchanted castle, he would find his lost one. 
With bated breath he hastened to raise the latch, 
and stepped into a court which was shaded by 
pink-blossomed trees and cooled by the playing 
of a fountain in the midst. There in the centre 
of a busy group of girls, bending silent-tongued 
over their spinning, sat his dearly loved swan- 
maiden ! 

Her face was as joyless as those around her ; 
she had no smile upon her lips, and her eyes 


334 Stories From William Morris 

were heavy and downcast, but except for her 
sadly changed expression, her beauty was as ex- 
quisite as ever. John’s joy unnerved him, and, 
too faint to move, he stood for a time and feasted 
his eyes upon that sweet form which for many a 
long year he had seen only in dreams. When 
would she raise her face, he wondered ; and would 
her eyes brighten when they fell upon him ? 
With trembling limbs he crossed to where she sat 
listlessly working at a piece of embroidery. Like 
all others banished to this land of hopeless love, 
she was deaf to any sound, and even when his 
glad, faltering words of greeting were uttered, she 
did not notice the man who stood before her; 
only, as if she were troubled by a dream, she 
gave a little start and clenched her white hands. 

“ Sweetheart,” he sobbed, “ surely your love 
has not grown cold ? Ah ! look into my eyes, I 
pray you, and behold your true lover, who all 
these years has found no rest nor happiness 
without you.” Then he poured into her unheed- 
ing ears the story of his love, from the morning 
when she won his heart in the meadow by his 
old Norwegian home, on to the late sad years 
when he had roamed the whole world in his dis- 
tress. « Have not we both been sorely punished 
for my folly and impatience in calling you to join 


me amongst mortal men ? ” he pleaded. 
“ Through all those bitter years I have never 
ceased to believe that our punishment would one 
day come to an end, and that I would find you in 
that country of which you must have whispered 
when you left me in my sleep that Christmas 
night. Did you not tell me, sweetheart, that I 
must seek you in this of the sun 

and west of the moon ? " 

The potent words had no sooner crossed his 
lips than his loved one awakened from her languor. 
She rose to her feet, raised her eyes, and, seeing 
her devoted lover, with the sweetest of glad cries 
she sprang forward to welcome him fondly. 
Words came again to her lips, joy took posses* 
sion of her soul, and she became, as of old, a 
light-hearted swan-maiden, radiant with love and 
happiness. 

But it was not to his beloved alone that John 
brought deliverance. The spell that bound all 
the dwellers in that country of lost loves was 
broken, once for all, when the name of the land, 
east of the sun and west of the moon, was uttered 
by one whose devotion had led him, through 
countless toils and perils, to win back his sweet- 
heart from that silent, gloomy life. One and all 
awoke now to enjoy renewed speech and laugh- 


33^> Stories From William Morris 

ter, and to praise the constancy of the Norwegian, 
who had rested not until he had accomplished 
the journey, which no other mortal ever under- 
took of his own free will. 



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